


Emotional Dysfunctionality

by calisonne



Category: Original Work
Genre: Drugs, Modern Era, Multi, NaNoWriMo, Original Fiction, Original Universe, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:18:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 50,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calisonne/pseuds/calisonne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Children are always born in pairs, a pair that contrasts and balances through the sharing of emotions through a weak telepathic link throughout childhood to create the perfect adult for the demands of society. Ivan Vargas was born without a partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote all this for National Novel Writing Month in Novemeber 2013. All of it was written then, no additions. I have no plans to finish, but I left a note at the end of the story.

The only lights in the street were the streetlamps, orbs of yellow in the darkness that composed the early hours of a winter morning, and the hallway light in the end house visible through the pane of glass that was positioned above the dark oak door. Slowly, the handle turned, and the door creaked open several inches, and then another several inches a few seconds later, slowly revealing a small figure that could only belong to a child. The child did not push the door open no more, but slipped out, flinching as the wood fell back against the frame with loud thud, and then scuttled away as if he was afraid of being snatched back inside; the child made it to the next house of the row before it slowed, shivering in only blue pyjamas, and began to look up at the midnight sky in awe. Cloudless, it was, decorated with hundreds and thousands of stars, little white diamonds in a sea of navy. Fascinated, he began to turn his head and frown from side to side, eager to view his new discovery from all angles before he carried on down the desolate road and the tall leafless trees that marked the start of the small estate and led onto the connecting road, which a car would occasionally fly past, generating a gentle swooshing sound that seemed to generate an atmosphere of odd serenity. Slowly, the child completed his journey, reaching one of the trees and moving his gaze from the stars to it as he tenderly stroked the bark, committing every notch and bump to his small and fragile mind. He reached as high as he could, and then frowned, taking his other hand to his mop of hair and comparing the textures, frowning when they weren't quite the same; he had a new problem to focus on now, and the thought of cold was gone, for he was no longer shivering. Now finished with the tree, he moved to the soil, again comparing the texture of the dull grains to that of his hair, and although in the darkness the colours seemed to match, he was disappointed to find both the objects he touched did not feel the same – yet evidently the soil was much more interesting than the tree bark, as the child scooped up a handful and let it slip out from between his fingers to fall back to where he had borrowed it from, and he giggled as he watched it, the innocent sound ricocheting off the white washed walls and back down the cul-de-sac. He continued at this play, the stars long forgotten, ignorant to the new light that lit up in the nearest house, and the bald man that stepped outside, taking a set of keys out of his pocket and inserting them into the car door, which he then opened and climbed inside, starting up the engine of the vehicle in a similar manner, only to have it cough and splutter twice before revving to life; the child was still oblivious, hands buried in the dirt that he clearly had grown attached to in the time they had been acquainted – it was only when the man had left his car, still running, and crept up on him from behind that the child noticed the presence of the man, but the child had ran out of time to act, for the man placed his hand over the child's mouth and stole him away from his soil. The child kicked and screamed, but nobody heard; he was unconscious by the time he was bundled into the car, and no more lights were on.


	2. Chapter One

The pendulum clock chimed seven times, but he only heard five of them; the first two muffled by his state of semi-consciousness. He knew that the old timepiece had struck the seventh hour rather than the fifth because through the crack in the door the pair of hands on the clock face were visibly pointing at the roman numerals for twelve and seven, the latter the smaller hand that signaled the hour. Ivan Vargas brought up his arm, which was hanging out of the side of his bed, and used it to cover his mouth as he yawned. He then sat up, unimpressed with his apparent sleeping position of laying on his front with the side of his face pressed against the warm pillow, and blinked his eyes as he adjusted to the pale morning light that spilled in through the dark curtains. He could hear quiet murmuring nearby now that the clock had finished its announcement of the time,  but most of the words were too hushed to be made out, either out of the respect for the early hour of the morning, or the words were designed to be for only the ears that the speaker spoke them too; the only words Ivan could make out were, 'never' and 'again’ which could have created a poorly constructed sentence alone, but gave Ivan no conclusions to draw – it was the clear sound of sobbing that gave away the context. He felt that sadness transfer to himself, even without the knowledge of who was crying, although it sounded feminine, the sadness of one was a sadness shared within a family – it seemed today would be one of those days, if seven in the morning consisted to crying. Today marked the nineteenth year that the Vargas household held the second day of the sixth month as an occasion to be celebrated, but Ivan had never cared much for his birthday.   
He then gave into the desire to stretch and did so, very cat-like in the way he chose to carry out the action, resting his hands against the mattress and pushing himself backwards to gain the full feeling of control in his arms. He wasn't sure why he preferred to stretch this way, but he never had got along with puffing out his chest and raising his arms to the infinite space above, which always seemed to result in some kind of minor back pain that he would rather do without. This being completed, Ivan chose the leave the comfort of his bed and pad across the room to his chest-of-draws which were conveniently located below his mirror. He peered into the reflective pane, using it to flatten his messy black fringe against his forehead from where it had been pushed upwards by his sleeping style; the position of the mirror made his room look much larger than it actually was, which was likely the intention of his parents when they installed it when he was a child, since he had naturally been granted the smallest bedroom in the house, at about a quarter of the size of the room his elder sisters shared until they had left home, but still used when they stayed over – which they were both now, having coincidentally been granted the same week off; Ivan didn't mind this arrangement, he wouldn't know what to do with a room the size of Eliana and Xenia's, never mind  the room his parents shared, which was big enough for the five of them to live in, provided a kitchen was installed – there was already an en-suite bathroom. The house was a large one, as suited their status in the class system.   
Satisfied with his fringe, Ivan's hands fell to the sculpted brass handles of the top draw, hesitating when he saw a dim shadow move across the sleeves of his nightwear, and looked up. The taller of the sister pair was stood in the doorway, gripping onto the wooden door so hard the tanned skin on her knuckles appeared white. Had it been Eliana that had been crying? Ivan didn't think so – her eyes were dry, and face offering a smile. Eliana Vargas, at age 25, stood at the proud height of 6” and her naturally black hair had been dyed a shade of white that Ivan associated only with snow. He had never been sure of her reasons for doing so, but the contrast of light hair against darker skin seemed to suit her complexion, and he wouldn't have been surprised if she was offered a job as a model. Eliana had chosen however, to become an Engineer. Cogs and oil was just as fascinating to her as the black-tie parties she attended regularly.  
“Happy Birthday, little brother.” Eliana offered, tucking a strand of loose white hair behind her ear. Her smile was warm, but Ivan detected some sadness within it, which he connected to the crying he had heard from somewhere in the landing, which suggested she had been the one to either deliver the bad news or receive it. Ivan didn't have the chance to respond to her before she stepped forwards and embraced him in a tight hug, “I still remember frowning at you when you were a simple little lump waving your little arms and legs about leaving chaos in your wake. I do not know how we would have coped if there was two of you.” She pulled back, smile smaller in size than it had been initially. Ivan thought to question her, but she swept herself away before he could even construct a sentence in his mind, leaving him stood alone in his satin red pyjamas. He decided he would go downstairs, after getting dressed into more appropriate attire, and find out what the sad event was that had decided to coincide with his birthday.  
Getting dressed, Ivan had chosen a creamy white shirt and a dull black waistcoat along with his favourite pair of dark grey trousers and his usual black laced boots, finishing it off by clipping his golden pocket watch to his waistcoat after the tedious task of winding it up; he had received the pocket watch from Eliana for his last birthday, and Ivan had to admit, despite the fact he had to wind it up every morning, the sound of it ticking was somewhat comforting to listen to. Wasting no more time, he left his bedroom behind and entered the landing. With its high roof and white walls, the landing was the grandest room in the house in Ivan's opinion – it had a minimalistic quality to it that he found aesthetically pleasing. And then, of course, there was the old pendulum clock which had been his favourite object in the house for as long as he could remember, and he knew that he would never grow tired of looking upon it each morning as he crossed the hallway to reach the curved staircase that led down to a second white landing, this one the corridor to the downstairs rooms. He could see three figures already seated around the table in the furthest room, the kitchen, which is where he had suspected his family would be gathered.  
“Good morning.” Ivan greeted his sisters and father as he entered the room, dipping his head slightly and pulling out one of the remaining chairs to sit.   
“Beverage?” His father asked immediately, setting down his copy of the Daily Telegraph to show he was already aware of his son's response.  
“Iced tea please.” Ivan nodded as his father slid back his chair and stood up, exiting the room via the small archway that led to main part of the kitchen, leaving Ivan alone with his sisters. Xenia, the smallest of the pair, was twiddling her thumbs idly and looking straight down at the table cloth, avoiding his gaze completely; her usually tidy bob of hair hadn't been styled, which pushed Ivan further out of his comfort zone. Yet Xenia didn't look like she had been crying either. It was quite possible that she and Eliana were sharing their emotions across the table, and by the looks of it, Xenia was taking on a lot more negative energy from her sister than Eliana was receiving from her. He was beginning to worry now, and sat in silence trying to figure out what sort of event could trigger this reaction – a death, perhaps? He hadn't seen his mother this morning. He bit his lip, deciding against that as a possibility, if it was a death it was probably one of the relatives he didn't know, which would make sense if they had neglected to tell him – certainly not a perk of his special condition was being nonexistent to the rest of the world, not as Ivan Vargas anyway. During his adventures on the vast world wide web, he went by the name Martin Medina, and at some point he had eloped Xenia into playing his 'brother' Antonio whilst Skyping a friend from over the ocean in America. He hadn't spoken to that friend in a couple of weeks now, he hope they were okay.  
“Iced tea. Happy birthday, son.” His father re-entered the room and placed the glass mug of caffeine in front him, drawing him away from his thoughts. He offered a smile as his thanks, which his father returned, although it was rather wan. He picked up the tea, tightly gripping the mug and peering down into its watery depths. The ice cubes bobbed up and down in the brown liquid as he held it, slowly shrinking in size as the ice transformed into water. Somehow, drinking it was a daunting process.  
“Is something going happening?” Ivan couldn't reserve his thoughts for much longer, letting the mug of tea find itself back to the table. Xenia tensed at his question, and his father appeared to initially not hear him, turning the page of his newspaper and frowning at the content. It was Eliana, who was swirling the dregs of her coffee, that offered him some of her attention.  
“I think we should wait for mother.” She offered, stretching out a hand to pat his own lightly. Ivan felt oddly patronized, and pulled back, deciding to simply look back into his barely touched tea and simple wait, as instructed; arguing would gain him no answers, and besides, it wasn't in his nature. He wondered if at his current tea-drinking speed he could finish his drink before his mother arrived, which he apparently could not, as he heard her moving in the hallway as soon as he raised the mug to his mouth for the second time, and decidedly placed it straight back down before drinking it, turning his head to look at his mother in a subtle yet expecting style. It was clear to him as soon as he looked at her than it had been his mother that had been crying. She was dressed in a simple black dress, in the style of mourning, and her thick black hair had been clipped back with an elegant golden hairpin that contrasted the plainness of her clothes; like Xenia, she chose to avoid Ivan's gaze, even as she set a pair of poorly wrapped packages on the table in front of him.   
“Happy birthday.” She offered, much like the other members of his family had. Xenia hadn't, and Ivan didn't expect her to spontaneously burst it out, she seemed to involved in her own thoughts to may him much attention, which suggested to him that although it had been his mother that had been crying, Xenia had been affected the most by whatever the bad news was, which Ivan was firm in believing that someone had died by his mother's choice of clothing, and Ivan found himself feeling slightly guilty for his demand of wanting to know the situation that made his sister so uncomfortable.  
“Thank you, mother.” Ivan gingerly took the first package, unsure if he had any right to touch his presents when the mood was so grim, and gently peeled at the wrapping paper, which due to the poor wrapping, was easy to pull away without creating too loud of a noise. By the time he had opened it however; his father had set aside his newspaper once more to watch. It was a silk scarf, not designed to be used in the winter to protect ones neck from the cold, but more of a fashion statement, this one in a shade of sunflower yellow that Ivan found worked with what he was currently wearing when he placed it, which surprised him. The second package was much larger, and he had drag it towards him before he could begin to open it, although he suspected from the shape it was an item of clothing as well. As he searched for an opening in the paper, his father let out a deep sigh.  
“I do not believe that adulthood starts until the age of twenty.” He announced, fingering curling around a mug that Ivan was unsure to contain anything. He wasn't quite sure what the relevance of what his father had just said either, he was nineteen today, not eighteen, the age society considered a person an adult, or twenty, the age his father apparently considered the appropriate age for one to become an adult.   
“It's my nineteenth birthday.” Ivan decided to remind him, but he got no comment; he waited in the silence for several seconds before he went back to the package, ripping back a large section of the paper to reveal a mass of light grey, the shade of grey one usually associated with a clouds that brought rain. Upon picking it up, he realised it was a coat, long styled to reach his knees, and it had him beaming. Ivan had never had a need to own a coat as he didn't go outside, besides the back garden briefly each day for the fresh air, but he had always had an obvious fondness for the longer styled ones from various action films – which was pretty much where most of his knowledge of the world came from, that and other forms of media such as books and the internet. He stood up, careful not to push his chair so far back that it would hit the wall, and pulled the coat on as he approached the kitchen mirror, curious to see how the coat suited his appearance, and was no disappointed. Still grinning, the sad atmosphere temporarily forgotten, he turned from side to side and then slid his hands into his pockets to find they were quite the opposite of what he expected – full. His grin vanished and was replaced with a frown, as he pulled at some of the material in the pocket and revealing it to be nothing other than money. He wasn’t sure how much there was, but it was certainly well into the hundreds. With a feeling of dread, he spun back towards his family.  
“Nineteen years is a long time to keep a secret.” His mother said quietly, her eyes watering once more, “you're nineteen, that's almost two decades of time we have kept you here, and-” she broke off, beginning to sob, “-we can't do this anymore. We can't hide you any longer and then, they'd take you away, I, Ivan, please, just go.” She turned away from him, they all did.  
“Mother, I...” He was lost for words. Being born as a singular unit, Ivan had always known he had no place in society, but he hadn't considered that he would have to face the world alone, “...where do-”  
“Get out!” His mother gave an ear piercing screech, and he fled.


	3. Chapter Two

He didn't stop running when the door slammed behind him, or when he passed the next house on the street; he didn't stop until he reached the end of the road, where the two trees stood either side of the road, branches full of green leaves and several blossoms leftover from the spring. For some reason, he felt drawn to the tree, and reached for it, slowly tracing the rough surface with the tip of his index finger; somehow, the tree seemed familiar to him, but he didn't quite know how. He let his whole palm rest on it, unsure of what to do, or think. He had money, and plenty of it, but what was he supposed to do with it? Book a hotel room for the rest of his life? Buy a house? He wasn't sure if he could do that without an identity. He knew that people born singular lived in the world, from the news. The ones he knew of were apparently terrorists, or so they had been labeled. Ivan wasn't sure what they were doing, or where they were, not that he had any desire to become a terrorist. And the world, he pulled himself away from the tree, seemed so much bigger now he was outside. It was the middle of summer, and Ivan felt cold.  
Slowly, Ivan traversed the streets, watching in an almost wonder as the cars passed by and the buildings grew in size, confusion and fear slowly being displaced by a curiosity and awe of the world, old, but new to his eyes. He wasn't quite sure what he should be feeling, but he let the beauty of the world wash over him and comfort him – the films did not quite cover how green the trees were, or how blue the sky was, or how magnificent certain structures were. He must have been on his way into main London, for the structures were getting grander, and some of them he began to recognise – not by name, but by appearance, from pictures and films. He was walking for some time before the whole excitement seemed to settle down and fear rose once more, overwhelmingly so. What if he was caught? At nineteen, he was three years over the legal requirement for one to always be accompanied by their partner, but that was of no reassurance, for he had nothing to fall back on, nothing but a hollow name he created for himself on the internet that had no history in the records, nothing; he didn't even exist. He could still feel the money in his hand, money that wasn't of an unlimited supply – when it ran out he would need more, but where from? He had qualifications, A-levels in Biology, Psychology, Sociology and English Literature, through home education, but nothing more; obviously unable to go to university he had spent the last year searching useless facts about different kinds of soil and the climates they originated in. Whatever types of soils were available in London, it was of little use to him now.   
He was clueless on what to do, but the other side of the road seemed somewhat busier with variously dressed people weaving in and out, likely due to the large office blocks that rose above the pavement, mostly dressed in standard business uniforms, most likely hurrying off to work. The road was quiet wide, which explained why the some of them hadn't crossed the road to Ivan's side to give themselves more freedom of movement – not that the other side of the road was too restrictive, it wasn't a battle for space, just not empty, like his side of the road was. He decided, for his own comfort, to cross. The road was clear as he understood it, safe for him to cross despite the shape of a man illuminated in red on the traffic light. Red did signal to stop, and the illuminated man was pictured to be standing still, but no traffic appeared to be coming from either direction. And clear it was until he reached the fourth set of white dotted lines and the vehicle - a shabby looking London cab, came flying round the corner, travelling at a speed obviously faster than the limit - if this road had a speed limit, which Ivan assumed it did. As the cab neared him, emitting a dreadful sound as the rubber tyres struggled to attempt to suddenly halt from the speed it had been going, his first reaction was to throw out his arm and attempt some sort of a vault, springing over the bonnet with unpracticed grace; his foot clipped the grill, and then the edge of the pavement smacked him in the face.  
That was not how it was in the action and adventure films - a comedy, perhaps. It was the sudden onslaught of pain that reminded him that this wasn't one of the films he had wasted hours watching, but was real life, and he was actually outside, making a fool of himself. He had intended to cross the road to take any attention away from himself, but instead, he had drawn it.  
"What the fuck do you think you're doing, kid?!" Someone was shouting at him, probably the cab driver.   
"Mate, he's bleeding out of his head you wanna be calling an ambulance!" Someone called back, the voice clearly belonged to a woman from the rougher estates, going on the Essex way. Ivan didn't say anything; he couldn't even bring himself to do anything but open his eyes. He found that a small crowd was beginning to assemble, one of them being a short man, one of the businessmen, who had crouched down in front of him. His face was slightly fuzzy, but Ivan could tell he was quite old and balding. He looked concerned.  
"You need to stay still, alright? Can you tell me your name?" That was definitely the businessman talking. Ivan obeyed in the sense that he did not attempt to move. He was shaking; he could feel the tiny vibrations, "your name, son?" He wasn't sure what to say to that. He couldn't say his name, his last name certainly not, they couldn't take him home. He wasn't even sure if he could risk his first name. Perhaps this was what he needed, he could pretend he had brain damage and didn't know who he was, and then he could persuade the doctors to let him restart his life – but it wasn't that simple, they would be able to see he was lying. He struggled to hold back tears.  
"Excuse me." Another voice, female and slightly accented, but Ivan couldn't tell what accent it was. His vision was starting to darken in the corners, and he struggled to identify the speaker until she pushed herself forwards in the crowd. She had a black jacket and some kind of red garment underneath, "my friend is a doctor, we can deal with this."  
"Love, no offense but yer look like yer only fifteen, where's yer partner? Driver's calling an ambulance." It was that woman again. Her accent grilled on him.  
"My friend lives closer than the London royal is from here. He's on his way; can you all clear off please? He's going to need some space." She chose to ignore the question about her partner, obviously not finding it relevant - her voice must have held some authority as people began to obey, the businessman only moving when the owner of the accented voice, a blonde haired girl, knelt down beside him. He wasn't sure what happened to the cab driver and his cab, he didn't want to ask either. The girl immediately went to brushing his wet and sticky black fringe to one side and examining the gash where the blood that he could feel slowly trickling across his face must have been originating. Her own hair had been put into medium length plait that hung down one shoulder, practical, yet with blurry vision, Ivan would have estimated her at older than the woman with the annoying accent had placed her, it gave him something to focus on, other than the pain, "are you trying to get yourself noticed? Had you perfected that stunt you would have completely compromised your position."  
"How?" Ivan managed, his voice slightly croaky. He was intending to ask how she knew he was different, but the words wouldn't form.   
"We know our own." Was her only reply as she moved her hand away from his head and into his hair, stroking it softly in some kind of attempt to sooth him. When she spoke this time, her voice softened, "my friend will be here in a minute, we'll get you out of the public eye."   
“Thank you.” He offered, voice continuing to wobble.  
He wasn't sure how long he waited, with the girl stroking his hair and various passerby's questioning his health and the girl informing them the assistance was near. He found that as the time passed, he began to relax, and his vision began to restore itself, which must have occurred due to the shock induced by his initial panic. It must have been at least five minutes when the girl moved her hand from his hair and to his arm, gently pulling him upwards and then offering him support when he was on his feet. She didn't question his ability to walk, but assumed he would be unstable, which was somewhat correct, for his legs were shaking and unwilling to let him move in a straight line, but the girl managed to get him to move with his arm thrown across her shoulders and they soon melted into a convenient crowd of tool-clad construction workers and then into an overshadowed alley scattered with several overturned bins, where a figure dressed primarily in blue appeared to be waiting. He crouched down as they approached, sliding a small rucksack out from behind his feet, pulling it open in one swift movement and propping it against the alley wall. Ivan felt himself being lowered to the ground as the girl moved to mimic the blue dressed boy's stance; Ivan just sank down onto the concrete, the hard material cold under his double layer of coat and trouser, one of the only upright bins providing the support for his back.   
“We don't have long.” The boy spoke, his voice tinted with what Ivan identified as a German accent and he wondered if the girl shared the same accent, but twisted with something else, which would have explained his lack of ability to identify it; yet the boy clearly pronounced his w sounds differently than the girl did, that seemed to counter his idea. The girl did not reply, but simply nodded and stood up, her plait threatening to fall to her back. She moved to the opposite wall, leaning against it and taking out what appeared to be a lolly-pop, unwrapped it and placed it in her mouth before returning her left hand to the pocket; her other hand fell to her other external pocket simultaneously, but did not remain there as the left did, drawing out some kind of mobile phone, which she began to tap at idly. It seemed very casual, and Ivan could have watched her for some time in mild curiosity if the boy didn't lean forwards and grab hold of his face, turning it so he could examine the injury that marked Ivan's forehead; he became aware of it again then, the fact that there was blood leaking down his face and the fact that he was in pain, and he recoiled slightly, only to be held firmly in place.  
“You're going to need stitches.” The boy informed him, a cloth appearing in his other hand, most likely from the rucksack, which he took to Ivan's face and somewhat delicately – which took Ivan by surprise, and dabbed at the blood on his face, removing it as he slowly worked his way to up to his forehead. He pressed the fabric on his injury for what must have been half a minute as he removed the hand that had been holding his head and removed it from Ivan's line of vision. He returned with a strip of bandage which he, with experienced speed, used to attach the cloth to his head. Ivan could now conclude that his hair was thoroughly messed up and positioning his fringe that short time ago had been utterly pointless. The boy then reached for his arm, and pulled him up sharply, again with less force than Ivan expected. At full height, this boy was easily four inches taller than him, if not more. He wore blue framed glasses, which had slipped down his nose, and his hair was a chocolate shade of brown, hanging just short of his shoulders.  He was aware then that the boy was studying him in the same way that Ivan was studying the boy, and decided he would much rather see what the girl was doing – which seemed to be apparently the same as what she was doing the last time he had looked, “come on.” The boy tugged at his arm as a small beeping noise sounded from what must have been some kind of technology he kept on his body, and Ivan was forced to follow, stumbling a little as the boy led him further down the alley, less merciful in his movement than the girl had been; he was walking at a more urgent pace, forcing Ivan to do the same, not doubt looking absolutely ridiculous as he was half dragged to the other end of the alley and onto another road, to which the boy stopped and pulled Ivan into him, offering a small improvement in support – he did not wait to cross the road, and Ivan felt the need to squeeze his eyes shut for that part of their journey, but no cars came. He wasn't sure of how long he had his eyes closed, but when he opened them again, he was down another alleyway, and the boy was reaching for a door, which he pushed open quickly, pulled Ivan inside, and then shut, leaving them in a dimly lit square landing that only had an unstable looking staircase as a route to follow; sure enough, they took it, several flights which proved tricky to tackle and almost tripped him on more than one occasion, but the boy did not once lose his patience with him, carefully guiding him up the a second square landing that seemed somewhat more brightly lit than the first, but by a fractional amount. There was a door opposite to the end of the staircase too, but when the boy opened this one, it led to another room rather than outside; the room being a magnolia coloured corridor littered with various numbered doors. A chandelier hung a little way down, decorated with translucent wine coloured crystals that refracted the yellow light about the hallway. Other than that, the corridor adopted a minimalistic feel, and Ivan felt a pang of sadness to be reminded of the hallway in his former home – and the old pendulum clock he would no longer see again.  
It was at the room labeled as number four in a cursive gold font that the boy halted, promptly releasing his grip on Ivan to flash some kind of card at the door, which in response made a clicking noise which could only be the lock turning, since when the boy went for the handle, the door opened, revealing the brand new room within; Ivan found himself impressed – as implied by the status of the corridor, the room was rather grand, painted in pale colours, and decorated with various house plants and a large grey rug bordered by a pair of plush sofas and a flat-screen TV. It was to one of those sofas that the boy led him to, and then pushed him onto when he didn't respond to the apparent hint that he was supposed to hit.   
“Is she coming?” Ivan asked, suddenly remembering the blonde haired girl whom had originally led him away from the spot of his own disaster, “the blonde haired girl?”  
“She'll be along.” The boy nodded, sitting down beside him and pulling the earlier rucksack up to his side, “I'm going to repair the damage you managed to gain by acting foolishly now. I believe you've lost quite a bit of blood.”  
“I don't feel tired.” Ivan pointed out, it was possible the whole shock of the situation was keeping him from feeling tired, but he protested anyway, “if I've lost a lot of blood, I should be desiring sleep.”  
“'Quite a bit' and 'a lot' are usually considered different amounts.” The boy shrugged, rummaging about in the bag, “I'm going to put you to sleep anyway. You've been through a lot and your body and mind needs time to recover.”  
“How do you-ou kn-oww ww...” He didn't feel anything, but the world began to blur and spin away. And then he felt like he was floating. And then nothing.


	4. Chapter Three

When he woke up for the second time that day, Ivan didn't know where he was. He pulled himself up in a panic, fingers reaching for the odd numb sensation on his forehead and finding some sort of cotton attached to his head; he followed it round, slowly working out that it was a bandage, and managing to recall that he'd been outside and cracked his head on the pavement – which didn't exactly make much sense to him. He realised his coat was missing, and then instinctively scrabbled for his pocket watch – which he found was still attached to his waistcoat, and hugged it to his chest for a few gentle ticks. Those seconds continued to pass, pocket watch counting them out for him in the silence that enveloped his surroundings; with little sound from the golden timepiece, more of the pieces of the puzzle came to him, the final few only arranging themselves when the boy with the blue framed glasses appeared in the doorway to the room furthest to the right. Which from what Ivan could see, contained a bed and some kind of screen. The boy ignored the fact he was awake and simply proceeded to the other side of the room, leaving Ivan to follow his movement by sliding round on the sofa, eyes firmly on the boy as he opened the main door to the apartment and revealed the blonde girl with her hand raised as if to knock. She was still dressed in her black jacket and red shirt, which Ivan now noticed frilled out at the bottom in the style of a dress, but was not long enough to be a dress – she wore grey leggings to compensate for that. She was still as pretty as he remembered to, with her plait still as neat as it had been when they had first met; she strode into the room, noticed Ivan and nodded at him  as she passed, taking a seat on the second sofa that was perpendicular to the one on which Ivan was sat.   
“Good Morning.” Ivan began, not sure how to conduct the conversation. He knew nothing about these people except that he owed them a debt, and he felt guilty for it, he was in the spotlight now, with strangers, probably being asked for some kind of payment – he did have the money in his coat, but he didn't know where his coat was.  
“Afternoon.” The girl corrected. Ivan looked away from her and back to his pocket watch, which he flipped open to view the time. It was one twenty seven precisely, so the girl was correct.  
“Afternoon.” He repeated, “good afternoon.”  
“He's been sleeping.” The boy spoke, perching on the other sofa in a position next to the girl, “do you remember how you got here?”  
“I do, I must thank you both.” Ivan replied simply. The boy was obviously testing his memory functions, which was the logical thing to after a head injury. He didn't admit that it took him some time to recall the finer details, since he already knew that was normal for a trauma, big or small, “if you wouldn't mind, I would like to know how to address you.”   
“Brandon.” The boy, Brandon, introduced himself, and then nodded in the girl's direction, “Cassia.”  
“A pleasure.” Ivan offered up a warm smile, giving both of his new acquaintances a small dip of his head, “Ivan, nineteen, three A grades and one B grade at A-level.”  
“No qualifications.” Cassia returned, with a slight grin. She seemed to consider the subject amusing. Ivan couldn't quite decide why, but she did appear of an age to be sitting her examinations – the GCSE kind, although he wasn't sure where the humour was in that.  
“Have you sat any examinations?” Ivan frowned, studying the pair of them. Whilst Cassia appeared younger, Brandon seemed to be of a similar age with himself, and if Ivan was right in this judgement, surely he would have some kind of grades to his name.  
“We don't exist, we couldn't have sat examinations.” Brandon pointed out as if it was an obvious fact, “which means you do not either, since you must have taken them under a false identity.” Those words stung Ivan. Brandon was correct; he'd taken all his exams in Xenia's name. He supposed that was why she had found it so easy to make her way through the world with all those extra grades to his name. He wondered if he would ever see her again, but then banished the thought to the back of his mind and refused to acknowledge it.   
“How do you have a place to live then, assuming you do live here?” Ivan attempted a new question. A place like this must have cost quite a bit of money to buy or rent out, money that people without qualifications would find a hard time earning, unless they had money from another source, such as rich parents which to Ivan's understanding, these people did not.  
“Because we do not exist, we can use out names for these things. If you know the right strings to pull and exactly how hard to pull them, people don't question you in the finer details that could cause what you have to fall apart. On those grounds, I suppose we could sit some of those examinations, but they would be pointless. I fail to see the point in proving my ability to recall and apply information for a piece of paper with a letter on it in return.” Brandon shrugged. From his word choice, the boy sounded like he was educated enough; the fact he had been able to stitch up Ivan's head proved he knew what he was doing. He made the conclusion that Brandon fit into the marginally superior brainpower over the marginally superior physical strength categories, which were the two basic classifications for people born as single units, although they didn't have proper names, since only the small few who slipped under the net managed to avoid being killed on the spot. This probably made Ivan the luckiest person alive, having escaped the death sentence, lived with relatively no fear for nineteen years, and then having encountered two people in the same situation as him; Ivan himself fit into the physical category – he had discovered when he was young his extreme agility, although that didn't seem to have been of any use when he was faced with a cab.  
“A source of income to support life generally needs letters on paper.” Ivan put in, “unless you just use the fact of non-existence to conjure those grades into existence.” He added, reflecting on what Brandon had said.   
“We could do.” Cassia took off her jacket and placed it over the arm of the sofa, revealing her bare arms, “but that would be rather dull. The concept of life is to live, reproduce and die, is it not? If we are already playing a game of risk, why not make the stakes higher?” Her lips curled upwards from the corners to form a grin. Her steel-blue eyes flashed and for a moment, she seemed dangerous.  
“I do not think I should intrude on your property for much longer.” He stood up, the thought just occurring to him that these people were indeed strangers, and however indebted to them he was, he was striking up a casual chat with people he had only met a few hours ago. Yet, he found himself drawn to them so maybe it was for the best that he should leave now before they told him he had to go, “I must thank you again for your assistance,” he looked around for his coat, “if you could tell me the location of my coat I can pay you for your troubles, and then I'll leave you peace.”  
“The money in your coat is only enough to sustain you for a couple of months, perhaps a year if you lived off the streets, but that would be unwise, winter will come eventually.” Brandon's chestnut brown eyes met him and slowly guided him back onto the sofa, “assuming you don't have a home that is, most people don't carry around that sum of money in their pockets for a trip to the shops. The coupled with your apparent naivety about the world does suggest this.” Brandon's words drived the stake of realisation into his chest. “Homeless.” Ivan's lips formed the word that he was. His anger for the invasion of his private possessions vanished instantaneously and was replaced by an overwhelming sense of numbness. He wasn't sure how to feel, because the fact didn't seem real until now, which was ridiculous to him. Home had been the only place he had known for nineteen years, the rest of the world simply foreign, only translated to him via the media and now, it wasn't even home, and it was just a place he used to know.  
“I'm sorry for being so abrupt.” Brandon softened his voice, the neutral tones he had been using falling away into something kinder. He stood up and approached, gently lifting him from the place he had banished him to less than a minute ago and pulled him into an embrace, Ivan's head falling into the other boy's shoulder, and then he started sobbing. He hoped that the others wouldn't be able to hear his expression of sadness, but if he pulled back the wet patch he was bound to leave on Brandon's shoulder would give it all away.  With the damage already done, Ivan let his body vent the negative emotions in his new safety, slowly tracking through the thoughts he had cast aside and facing them one by one, and then exiling them oblivion. The world, as big as it was, was something Ivan hadn't been prepared for, but he knew that with time, he could become quote knowledgeable about the workings of London – it was not the new that hurt, but the old; he attempted to detach himself from his family too, but as they made up the memories for the past nineteen years, it proved practically impossible. His mother worked for the government, the very people that created the law that non-pair born children should be killed at birth to avoid the future of a miserable loneliness without a partner to share emotions telepathically with. They said this connection was vital to grow, yet here he was. But his mother must have loved him enough to project him from termination for all these years, and he wondered what could have been the final straw to break that; he doubted that the government would just take his life now he was fully mature; he would just be inferior to them. He gave a final snivel and lifted his head to free himself from the hug.  
“Do you have a family?” Ivan found himself asking, first peering up at Brandon and then moving his gaze to Cassia. Brandon took a step back to offer Ivan back his personal space.  
“We were raised together.” Brandon explained, nodding back at Cassia, “I don't recall how, they never really told us, but an elderly American couple charged themselves with our care. When I was nine, so ten years ago, our fatherly figure, so to speak, died from a lung cancer induced by tobacco smoking, and then last year, our motherly figure could no longer support us.” He produced a weak smile, “I of course was past the age by then, and lying about Cassia's age by a single year wasn't much of a problem.”  
“Do you still see her, this woman?” Ivan probed, intrigued. There was something off about Brandon's story, perhaps in his inflictions when he had spoken, but he didn't dwell on them, instead focusing on the fact that the ages he had calculated, which Brandon had just revealed, worked out with Brandon being of age with him and Cassia sixteen.  
“No.”  Brandon shook his head, “we have no idea where she is.”   
“We can relate then.” Ivan mused aloud, “but I know where my family are, so I suppose I am in a better situation. I-I'm sorry for my reaction, it was quite insensitive” He used the palm of his right hand to remove any remaining water from his eyes. He wasn't sure if he should be suspicious with the similarity of their story to his situation, but with a small number of people like them managing to live this long, he guessed that they had to all share the similar history of being forced away from what was home. Was there something he wasn't aware about happening to adults that were born without a partner, something unrecorded? The thought sent a shiver down his spine.  
“I'm going to make some coffee, would you like some?” Brandon switched the conversation, perhaps feeling uncomfortable or considering it at an end. Ivan would have preferred tea, but he nodded anyway. If they drank coffee, they probably didn't keep any teabags; living as society's outcasts didn't bring in many guests, and coffee was probably palatable. Upon receiving his answer, Brandon turned his head to Cassia, who hadn't moved an inch since she sat down.  
“Just some milk please.” Cassia gave her response, to which Brandon hesitated and frowned at for a couple to milliseconds before making his way behind Ivan's sofa to the door in the wall behind, which evidently must have been the kitchen, leaving him alone with Cassia.  
“What Brandon was trying to say is we could offer you some support. We don't have a spare bed, but some of that money you brought along could be used to invest in another, or upgrade to a three bedroom flat for that matter.” She moved her hands up to her side plait and tugged gently at the bobble that held the thickly twisted hair in place, “we should stick together, people like us.” Ivan opened his mouth to reply but no words formed. The idea seemed so perfect, a quick recovery from his shattered bubble. Cassia smiled, warmly, and released her hair, surprisingly shorter than it looked plaited, throwing it back and setting it free. It appeared to have some natural wave to it, although Ivan did not know how long she had kept her hair in that style – by logic, hair would not revert to being instantly straight after being bound for a long period of time.    
“A-are you serious?” He finally managed, “I don't want to cause you any problems. My funding isn't going to support my presence for long and I cannot expect you to support me.”   
“That would be the catch.” Cassia nodded, “we would require your assistance. We've been working as a pair for a year now and to be completely honest, I could do with a partner on the field.”  
“Partner? On what field?” Ivan narrowed his eyes slightly. The words Cassia chose made it seem like the pair of them were out of some kind of action packed espionage film, running around to combat the many evils that plagued society. Ivan grinned, the smile creeping onto his lips before he could reign it in. She had said dangerous, “what are you, spies?”  
“No, not quite that.” Cassia shook her head, “although I suppose you could say we play the same game.”  
“I don't know then. A rebellion for rights?” Ivan was dumbfounded. He racked his brain for ideas based on anything he had heard in the news. He had heard of minor activist groups, but it was hidden in the darkest corners of the internet.  
“That wouldn't be practical.” Cassia repeated her action of shaking her head, “there are so few of us, any attempt at standing up to the government and we would be crushed. We have been granted life; I have no desire to waste mine.”  
“We're adults now, th-”  
“They'll crush us, young or old. We're stains upon their perfect world.” Cassia's voice went cold, as if her charm had been flicked off like a switch, “they're working on space travel, right? They don't want to make first contact while we're contaminating what they have. What do you think they do to anyone they catch? Let them go merrily along their way?” Her words burnt like a red-hot iron, more harsh reality that he had spent nineteen years shielded from, and he found himself stunned into silence until a hand placed a mug of coffee in his hands. That action made his jump, and he would have knocked the freshly poured liquid all over himself and caused himself real burns if Brandon had removed his hand from the cup a few moments before. The warm sensation in his hands brought him back to attention, and he blinked several times, eyes focusing as Cassia raised a tall glass of milk to her lips and Brandon lowered himself back down onto the sofa, the steam from his coffee condensing on his glasses.  
“What do you do then?” Ivan ventured back into the previous line of conversation, raising the coffee to his lips, and then pulled a face. It didn't taste quite how he imagined it. Cassia was frowning at him, “I'm sorry I've never tasted coffee before.” He tried to cover for himself, and broke down into nervous laughter.   
“We handle drugs.” Cassia announced. Ivan stopped laughing immediately.  
“Drugs, as in, drugs? The illegal ones?” Ivan swirled some of the coffee in his mouth, unsure if he liked the taste. Caffeine was a drug, as was tobacco, but they were legal drugs. Somehow, he didn’t quite think Cassia was talking about those.  
“Yes. Money is money.” Cassia nodded, setting her half-filled glass aside, “and in our own way, a rebellion it is.” She looked directly into his eyes, challenging him.  
“I' have made my decision.” Ivan kept his eyes firmly fixed on her as he replied.


	5. Chapter Four

“This is the camera.” Brandon flashed a thumb-sized device in front of his face, holding it that close to Ivan's eyes that he had to squint to get a good look at it. He raised his hands to take hold of the miniature device in order to move it to a better viewing distance, but they were swatted away as Brandon's other hand moved up to push back Ivan's hair behind his right ear, “I'm attaching it behind your ear. In that position I can receive a decent picture and sound whilst it remains concealed from a casual passerby.” He explained as he carefully hooked the machine around Ivan's ear, “I've adapted this one to match your skin colour.” Ivan grimaced as Brandon pressed it into place, pushing part of the device into his ear, “and this part inside your ear will transmit anything I say directly to your ear. Volume isn't too loud, but I can adjust it if the sound level isn't just right.” He removed his hands from Ivan's ear, “how does it feel?”  
“It's fine.” He lied. The device wasn't very comfortable, but with time, his ear would surely grow accustomed to it and then he would likely forget it was there at all. They were in Brandon's room, which Ivan had discovered also doubled as a base of operations, or that was how he thought of it, for the boy with the slightly stronger brain power to observe and inform him and Cassia as they were out on the 'field', as Cassia had dubbed it. Naturally, with Cassia and himself being the ones with physical talents, transporting the drugs was what they would do, and Brandon's job, or so it seemed, was to keep track of what was going on around them and make sure each of the deliveries happened as planned; Cassia and Brandon had somehow found themselves in the London branch of what appeared to be a growing network and where therefore responsible for collecting the bulk of the drugs and shipping them out across the country whilst also covering London itself. Ivan did not know where the drugs came from, or what they were, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to know – the pair of his new friends didn't seem to have any interest in taking drugs themselves, which was satisfactory enough for him. They also seemed grateful for his help, as Cassia had informed him that making the rounds had always been a tight schedule, and his assistance would give her some space to breathe. Cassia gave the impression that she enjoyed her work however, and Ivan hoped he could share that emotion with her as they carried out the necessary tasks, and then returned to the flat and, well, relaxed, he assumed. Yesterday afternoon and evening had simply had consisted of the pair relaying information to him, no relaxation involved as he had attempted to commit certain procedures to memory, and then later specific road names and back street routes with Cassia when Brandon took his leave to purchase a mobile phone to configure for Ivan to use that bypassed the main servers – he'd been gone for most of the night, and it was only because he was left to sleep on the sofa that he had been aware of the boy letting himself back into the apartment looking rather pleased with himself.   
“Good.” Brandon gave a satisfied nod, taking a step back to admire his handiwork. Along with a bed, which was made up to a basic standard that Ivan had crinkled his nose at, Brandon's room featured a sleek modern wood desk up which a wide screen computer was sat, wired up to several metallic boxes, one of which powered the screen and one of which that likely served as some kind of memory, upon the function of the others, Ivan did not know. The screen, as he looked at it, displayed a close up of the side of Brandon's face and then the computer itself across the bottom left quarter of the screen, creating a repeated image of a computer inside a computer over and over, which Ivan couldn't look at for more than a couple of seconds before his eyes hurt. Above that section, the other quarter of that half was a box void of any picture – he assumed that it displayed the image from Cassia's camera when it was in operation, which was obviously switched off now seeing as he hadn't seen the blonde girl leave her room this morning, which meant she was likely still asleep. He wondered how long it had taken for Brandon to set up Ivan's device to connect to his computer and configure the device itself so it 'matched his skin tone' as he had said. It couldn't have been long, unless he hadn't slept at all last night.  
“Can I take it off now then?” Ivan asked, indicating to the camera device as Brandon turned to check that the image was registering on the screen. He tapped at a button a couple of times and then turned to look back at him, seemingly oblivious to what Ivan had said, “I asked if I coul- He stopped, surprised to hear his own voice come out the computer as he spoke, “could take it off.” He must have presented his surprise on his face as Brandon quietly chuckled, the sound of the laughter perfectly clear in the ear that the device was connected to.   
“You have today and yesterday to cover.” Brandon composed himself. Hearing the sound in two distinct places set Ivan outside his comfort zone. Of course hearing sounds in his ears was nothing new, as he had often used earphones; but a person's voice was completely different, when you could hear them speaking normally at the same time, “Cassia didn't complete all the rounds yesterday, with you turning up.” Brandon explained, “and today is also one of several days during the month that drivers from various parts of the country expect us to have their supply ready for transport. Today is day of the month that the Yorkshire lorry comes to collect his share. You'll need to do that first. Then you have some, well, private customers.”   
“We're not starting now, are we?” Ivan rubbed his right ear, fingers brushing against the device, “Cassia's still sleeping, isn't she?”  
“No” Brandon pointed to the space behind Ivan in the main room. Cassia was visible exiting the kitchen with a steaming mug of hot liquid, looking as if she had been awake for a while, dressed in a white version of what she was wearing yesterday and the same grey leggings and short black ankle boots. She smiled when she saw Ivan looking and took a seat on the sofa next to her jacket which was still positioned where she had abandoned it the day before. Ivan himself had no spare clothes, so he had been out, with Brandon seeing as he had no idea where to go, and spent two hundred pounds of the money from his coat pockets on items of clothing. Brandon had frowned at the prices and suggested more inexpensive clothing, but if that type of clothing was anything like what Brandon was wearing, he didn't want to know; he had been quite nervous walking back into main London after what Cassia had said, but Brandon had been completely relaxed in another of his blue jumpers, pointing out various points of interest to Ivan as they walked; Ivan had been too wrapped up in his thoughts to pay much attention, watching exactly where he was walking so the only person he ever got close to was Brandon. After purchasing Ivan's new clothes, Brandon had shown him his phone on the return journey, in which he had relaxed slightly and managed to memorise that Brandon's number was stored as a dashed line and Cassia's was stored as an open bracket symbol – there had been another number, under the name of 'x' although when Ivan asked about it, Brandon had hurriedly pulled the phone away from him and said he must have made an error transferring numbers; when Brandon handed him the phone to keep, the number had vanished. As soon as they had arrived back, Ivan had confined himself to the very cramped bathroom to change, which took some time considering how long he had spent looking at his head wound in the mirror. It stung, but showed no signs of infection as it all seemed to be the right under Brandon's ugly stitch-work; by the looks of it, it would leave his with a scar, but under his fringe, Ivan doubted it would be very visible. He had then made a very poor attempt to reattaching the bandage, which apparently didn't matter as Ivan had immediately been sat down upon his entry into the main room and the bandage was taken off, wound inspected and rubbed with some white cream, which Ivan had winced and gritted his teeth throughout the whole time it was applied, and then a fresh bandage looped around his head. He didn't particularly want to go around London looking like he should be in hospital, but Brandon had insisted, in an unamused tone, it was the only way to avoid making it worse until it had healed enough for the stitching to prevent any dirt entering the wound, since he was not a doctor and had never had any desire to be a doctor, which Ivan interpreted as a threat not to injure himself again. Ivan had returned that he had wanted to be a doctor at one point in his childhood and had studied biology quite in-depth, so they were covered if he accidentally fell down the stairs.  
“So we always begin work at this hour?” Ivan asked, turning back to Brandon. It was eleven in the morning now, give or take a few minutes. Brandon responded by shaking his head.  
“Earlier. If we started at this time, Cassia wouldn't have been a witness to you crashing head first into the ground, which I saw,” he nodded to his computer screen, “with a little practice, you could become a professional.” Ivan concluded he was joking.  
“If we're running late today, what about your clients?” Ivan asked, unsure if he wanted to deal with angry drug-deprived people with an obvious weak point for them to hit.  
“Unhappy, but unlikely to do you any harm.” Brandon answered his thoughts as he plugged a hair of headphones into the base of the computer screen. As if on cue, the blank section of the computer screen suddenly sparked into life, showing a clear image of the main room, “Cassia says you need to get moving now unless you want to get strangled,” he frowned, listening to whatever Cassia was telling him down the connection, “by a lorry driver, she says. The man from Yorkshire is not a friendliest of folks.”  
“Got it.” Brandon raised an eyebrow and spun on his heel to exit the room and enter the large main room, where Cassia was stood waiting by the door, hair once more hanging over one shoulder in plaited form. Ivan had to pick up his coat which he had left on his current bed before he could join her at the door, which he opened polity for her and closed when they were both outside. Cassia did not waste any time getting under-way, moving off down the corridor to take the same route out of the building as Ivan had entered yesterday, covering the stairs which such a speed that she almost seemed to be hovering above the ground, leaving Ivan to take the stairs several at a time, surprisingly not tripping. It seemed speed was Cassia's forte, and not used to operating with another, the first few days would surely consist of him chasing after her like a lost puppy.   
Once out of the building, Ivan tried to recall the route that Cassia had informed him off yesterday, but only seemed to remember that their first stop was somewhere by the river Thames, to pick of the drug supply. To make up for his poor memory,  Ivan made sure to read any street signs they passed twice, but was soon distracted by the faint sound of chewing in his ear, which made him hungry.  
“Food?” He called out to Cassia, who was a couple of metres ahead, and amongst the collection of people, his words were lost.  
“You can find a bakery and satisfy your hunger when I am satisfied that Yorkshire has a supply on the way.” Came Brandon's response, which Ivan didn't bother replying to. He did not stop eating, which Ivan found very inconsiderate. He was forced to endure the sound as they closed down on the river, and after what seemed like an age of walking and Brandon finally stopped communicating the fact he was feeding himself, Cassia held up her hand for him to stop.  
“Cover me.” She instructed. Ivan was confused by what exactly he was supposed to do, and simply turned around as Cassia plunged her hand into the shrubbery. They had stopped short of the river, in a section that seemed to be nothing but green; the water of the river was visible, but only just behind a grey barrier that was masked by the mass of green bushes that lined it. There didn't seem to be any people close enough to see what they were doing, but Ivan took out his phone, as he had seen Cassia do yesterday, and stood in front of her to block her from sight. After a short passing of time, the rustling stopped and Cassia produced a pair of large rucksacks, one of which she pulled onto her back; she held out the other for Ivan.  
“That is meant to fill two lorries?” Ivan nodded at the bag as he took it, copying her actions.  
“One bag. You don't think we fill the lorries right up, do you?” Cassia raised an eyebrow at his comment, signalling for them to move. He wasn't sure if he heard Brandon snickering in the background.  
“I do not know.” Ivan felt a little embarrassed by his apparent stupidity, he cast his mind back to film which seemed to be a reliable source of information so far, “is it like smuggling then, a small amount stashed amongst other objects to avoid detection?”   
“You've got it. And besides, we only use one of the lorries at a time.” Cassia nodded as she once again took the lead, heading diagonally through the bushes. This journey was shorter, simply moving away from the river and across a few minor roads to a desolate car park where two blank white lorries were parked side by side, completely ignoring the white parking lines. One of the drivers was visible crouching in the back of one of the vehicles, only part of his side and back visible. Cassia was first to reach the lorries, and for some reason knocked on the side of it instead of announcing her presence or simply tapping the figure on the back. The driver slowly stood up and peered round the side of the lorry, revealing himself to be a pale brown haired male, who when trying to get out of the lorry, stumbled backwards and out of the lorry to the hard gravel. Somehow, he managed to recover his footing and sweep himself upwards before he met the floor, grinning somewhat as he pulled off the stunt.  
“I fall a lot.” He driver announced, justifying his actions, he than coughed, and straightened his dull navy jacket, “you're late.”  
“Supplier was late.” Cassia lied, sliding off the rucksack and forcing it against his chest roughly, “you know the deal.” She held out her palm.  
“Who's this?” The man asked, pointing at Ivan.  
“Don't speak.” Brandon commanded almost instantly.  
“He's not your boyfriend, is he?” The man continued, taking a step closer to Ivan – he was smaller than Ivan, only slightly taller than Cassia was, and did not seem threatening in any manner, “because I thought we had a thing, Cas?”   
“I don't recall a 'thing'. I only recall weak flirtation.” Brandon commentated.  
“You thought wrong.” Cassia returned with a sigh, keeping her hand flat out in front of her, “we're running late, Nora. Hand over the payment or I may have to hurt you.” The driver, named Nora by Cassia, moved his eyes from Ivan and to Cassia, lip quivering.  
“C-can I touch your hair?” He asked, “I'll give you an extra ten.”   
“Hair prostitution. That's new.” Brandon's commentary continued. Ivan struggled to keep a straight face.  
“No.” Cassia said without a second of thought, voice flat. Nora reluctantly pulled a wad of money out of his pocket, attached together with an elastic band, and placed it in Cassia's open hand, which she finally withdrew from in front of her and slid inside her jacket, depositing the payment in an inside pocket. Nora watched her in fascination. Ivan summoned a cough to gain his attention.  
“I assume you now need to climb back into your lorry and drive back to wherever you are from now.” Ivan smiled, nodding his head towards the lorry. Nora nodded quickly and rather nervously, backing away and climbing back into the container of lorry.  
“You warned me that the man from Yorkshire was 'not the friendliest of folks'.” Ivan quoted, aiming his comment at Brandon, freeing himself from his silence as Cassia let out a deep sigh and began turned to retrace her steps.  
“I didn't say dangerous. You assumed dangerous.” The shrug was almost audible, “you can eat now if you want, and there is a Greggs bakery nearby. Nice sausage rolls, I hear.”  
“May be worth investigating.” Ivan returned. Cassia had slowed down now, and he found himself managing to walk side by side with her as they pulled away from the river and back into the city, “are you okay?”   
“He's insufferable.” Cassia brushed a loose strand of her golden hair behind her ear, “Brandon however seems to think he's somewhat amusing.”   
“He was an irritant.” Ivan agreed, “for what it's worth though, I can see where he's coming from, you do have nice hai-” She smiled.  
“Stop.” Brandon cut in.  
“Stop what?” Ivan scowled, as Cassia's head shot up and she began looking around, “I see no harm in giving compline-”  
“Hush, Ivan.” Cassia grabbed his arm suddenly, “he means we're being watched.”


	6. Chapter Five

The dash across the car park was one that gripped Ivan's heart with icy claws, sending cold shivers throughout his body, but did not quite freeze his heart as that was all he heard pounding against his ribcage until he collided with the railing that barricaded the river. Cassia wasn't with him; she'd run off in the opposite direction as Brandon had voiced it was a code red, meaning they had no choice but to run. Yet his inexperience had led to his own entrapment.   
“Ivan – you've still got time, go right!” Brandon's instructions entered his ear, calm but forceful as in instruction; the lack of panic was a favour to his nerves, and that was something Ivan was sure he would develop after several sprints for his life.  He tightened his grip on the bar, briefly considering the suggestion Brandon had put forwards against the idea that had begun to grow in his mind. He peered over the bar – the bank was quite steep, but there was a thin section that flattened out before dropping slightly to the murky water, “Cassia, left ther-Ivan, no!” Brandon had obviously guessed his intentions and voiced his opinion firmly; Ivan bit his lip, ripping the rucksack from his back and tensed his legs, springing with ease ad clearing the barrier in a sharp and clean vault – and then he was tumbling downwards, hand ripped free of the bar and coat flying upwards as the air resistance came into play, slowing his descent by a minimal amount. He hit the ground hard, legs slipping out from under his and leaving his back to smack against the hard soil, and rolled, the back half of his head submerging in water, “Ivan, you're still with me, right?” Ivan grinned widely, and laughed, giving Brandon his answer. Adrenaline had joined his fear, almost strong enough to overpower it, “you're improving then. Get up, Ivan, keep moving, they'll reach the barrier in five seconds if my calculations are correct.” Ivan pulled himself up instantly, his body disappointingly slow to respond and aching from the blow to his back. At the fourth second he managed to scramble against the side of the bank in order to hide himself from view, moving slowly against the jagged bank and aggravating the bruising he had certainly earnt himself. Somewhere, he had to find a place to climb back up.  
“Is Cassia okay?” Ivan asked, drawing away from the bank wall, careful not to step too bar back so that he would slip into the river, “I didn't hear you offer her much assistance.”  
“She disabled the police officer who was tailing her. I got a screenshot of his face I can show you later – it's quite impressive.” Brandon replied, voice laced with amusement, “she's heading back towards you now, which means I should be able to get a view of where the other officer is. He should have seen you jump, so be cautious.” Ivan nodded, not wanting to speak, taking Brandon's words literally in case this other officer was in hearing range – and Brandon should be able to tell from the movement of the camera up and down that he understood what he was being told. Up ahead the bank fell away and Ivan knew that he could not swim and taking it would be rather foolish; he slung the rucksack back over his shoulder and let it hang, using both hands to grab a firm section of the bank and hauling himself up, the climb taking more effort than he had hoped before he could reach the metal bar and rolled himself over it in a rather ridiculous fashion, arms aching from strain. He was straightening himself up when something grabbed a fist full of his coat and jerked him towards them; Ivan felt the icy claws return, this time freezing his body almost instantaneously.   
“Damn it!” Brandon cursed loudly, followed by the sound of something reasonably powerful hitting wood, “code black, Cassia, twenty degrees left!”   
“What's in the bag, son?” The man demanded, voice overlapping the end of Brandon's sentence, offering up a cold stare. Ivan took a quick glance at the man, and then moved his gaze to the floor, unable to muster a defiant stare. The police officer let go of his coat for a brief instance – he wasn't sure why, but Ivan took it as an opportunity to bolt, but only managed to turn before the man had hold of his arm and twisted it painfully behind his back, “Not so fast, kid. I'm placing you under arrest. You are not required to say anything but it may harm your defence.” Cold metal brushed against his wrist, sending a fresh spark of panic through his body; he twisted, sending a jolt of pain up his arm and kicked, his fear plagued aim landing making a small cracking noise as it landed, causing the man to cry out and release his grip. Staggering forwards, Ivan found that his legs refused to move at the speed he required and tripped, hitting the pavement with one outstretched palm that buckled under the weight of his body.  
“I'm sorry.” He mumbled, hoping Brandon would hear. Despite the fact he was partly responsible for throwing him into a dangerous situation in which Ivan was no way prepared, he felt he had failed to repay the debt of yesterday. As he struggled to will himself to stand, the man's shadow fell over him, and he went to shield his face, expecting pain. But nothing came. In his self-induced darkness, he heard something heavy hit the ground.  
“Ivan?” Cassia's voice was a welcome sound to his ears. Slowly, he pulled back his arms and let the light flood back in. His eyes did not take long to adjust, as he hadn’t been without light for long and the day was not the brightest; Cassia was stood at a right angle to where the man had been, a small black object gripped tightly in her hand. She quickly tucked it away before he could identify it, and his eyes moved to the police officer that lay against the paved floor, face turned away from them, a small puddle of blood forming around his face. It seemed a considerable amount of blood for a wound created by falling, but Ivan did not have long to study it before Cassia's hand closed around his arm, the sore one, and tugged him back up onto his feet, “are you okay?”  
“I-I'm fine.” Ivan brushed his hair back, inhaling long deep breaths of air, “thank you.”  
“I'll be here to protect you as long as you need me.” Cassia moved her hand up to his shoulder, patting it gently, “we'll take a break and get some food.” She turned to lead the way, but Ivan felt the need to spare a glance at the fallen police officer, eyes finding a hole in the side of his head that he hadn't noticed during his initial viewing – and then it fell into place. A lump formed in his throat as he circled round the man, gulping it down as he saw what he expected to see.  
“Ivan, listen to me.” Brandon's voice entered his ear once more, “walk away.”   
“Why didn't I hear it?” He asked quietly, staring down into the eyes of the former police officer, now devoid of life.  
“Silencer. He'd seen your face, he could identify you, she had no choice.” Brandon reasoned. Ivan sniffed, sucking back his tears.  
“Sorry, I just...” He trailed off, running his hand once more through his hair. Cassia had turned back around and was stood a distance away, leaving Brandon to do the talking.  
“It gets easier.” Brandon reassured, “get some food, and sort yourself out.” Ivan smoothed down his coat, the action somewhat calming. He stepped over the fresh corpse, raising his head up high as he left it behind and joined Cassia; she put her arm around him, rubbing his shoulder soothingly as they left the scene of their crime, Cassia's guidance providing him with some valuable time to settle his mind – he dropped his head, the confident pose not quite working. He wasn't sure if he could do this – this being the running, and the violence. Violence against those who could have him killed, he reminded himself, although that didn't quite make him feel better about it. Sort yourself out, Brandon had said, and despite the harshness of the statement, Ivan knew he was correct. The way he was, a single human without a partner, he would be doing nothing but running his whole life, all because I couldn't communicate his emotions to another being; he had always thought that the marginally superior physical or mental abilities granted to those like him were born that way to make up for what they didn't have, and somewhere, the partner of the dead man knew his partner was dead as his link was broken – emotionally compromised. They said some of them went mad, and those that didn't were never the same again; emotion was a restraint, how could emotions be superior to abilities that could reshape the world? He gave another sniff – an emotional response.   
Cassia steered him towards a door, pushing it open. The door gave a little chime as it was opening, signalling to the people dressed in aprons behind the counter that they had new customers. In the counter, Ivan saw a wonder of fresh delights, including a tray of golden coloured pastries labelled as various things such sausage rolls, beef and onion pasties and cheese and tomato pizza; on the other side, iced buns and sugar coated hunks of brown fed his eyes. As if summoned back to reality, Ivan straightened up, hunger re-awoken.  
“Can I have two sausage rolls and a jam doughnut please?” Cassia removed her arm away from his shoulders, approaching the counter; she produced a twenty pound note, “Ivan?” She turned to look back at him as the woman moved to get the items of food Cassia has requested.  
“I'll...I'll have the same.” Ivan decided, unable to take his eyes off the many rows of delights behind the glass until Cassia placed two paper bags in his hands. Unsure which was which, he peered into both packages, finding the one with the sausage rolls – which happened to be the warm package, and pushing one of the sausage rolls up to the top of the bag and biting it, the warm pastry crumbling between his teeth; the sausage was warm, filling his mouth with the wonderful sensation of hear. The smile returned to his face and he did a little bow, “thank you very much.” He was aware of Brandon scoffing, but chose to ignore it as she turned right around and left the shop by Cassia's side after the girl put away the change from her food purchases, almost bumping into a small blonde haired boy as he entered, Ivan choosing to stand aside for him to enter whilst Cassia simply pushed past. He was ready to follow her when he heard the boy burst into tears, mumbling something about the doughnuts being gone. Clutching his own jam doughnut to his chest, he left, leaving the boy to cry. There was another boy that could only be his partner stood outside the bakery, hammering on the glass of the window in an angry expression of his brother's sadness. He watched his own reflection in the transparent glass – his bandage was coming loose on one side, and he had sausage roll crumbs on his coat; he brushed them away and continued to eat, slowly savouring each mouthful. As he moved onto the second, Ivan had blocked out the rest of the world, facing only a mirror image of himself.  
“You are what you are.” Cassia's reflection joined his own, licking the sugar that was stuck to her lips, “we'll make a great team when you believe in yourself.” She scrunched up her two empty paper bags in her hands, making them into balls before dropping them in the external pockets of her jacket, “It's usually a routine, and even if we're seen it usually doesn't turn nasty. Ninety percent of the time we're able to just clear some distance and be fine.” She looked away, an amused smile tugging gently at her features, “I guess the police knew you were coming along and wanted to test you.” Upon Ivan's startled reaction, she bit her tongue and looked to the floor to hold back a wave of laughter, “I'm joking, the only man that has had a good look at you in dead.” She seemed a little too comfortable saying that, even if they were only exchanging words at a low volume on an almost empty street – the two boys had long gone.  
“We should move on.” Ivan brushed the crumbs from his coat, deciding not to eat the doughnut now and pocketing it for some later time, perhaps a mid-afternoon snack. Cassia's reflection nodded, and so they went, away from the Greggs bakery and into London, leaving small packets of the white drugs from Ivan's bag in amongst a delivery of fresh spices to a food production factory and taking advantage of one open window at the back of a popular Indian restaurant to sprinkle a few into a simmering curry. Ivan had enjoyed that part – he got to show off his agility by jumping onto one of the large restaurant bins and leaning in through the window whilst crushing several of the hard tablets to a powder. The chef in this part of the kitchen had his back to them; talking on his mobile phone to someone he cleared loved 'with all his heart'. After that, the jam doughnut still untouched, they walked a couple of streets to finish the loop they had travelled and finish at the back entrance to the block of flats he now called home. Upon their arrival to number four at around ten past the 16th hour, Cassia took to emptying her pockets whilst Brandon sat him down for a brief medical check, despite his protests about having no intentions of serving as a doctor; the arm the police officer had wrenched was slightly swollen, but it was nothing serious – Brandon supplied him with some painkillers to combat the combination of pain there and his head, which he had surprising paid little attention to whilst he was outside, but it came flooding back when he made himself comfortable, like he had opened a gate in his brain; he waited for the painkillers to kick in and then longer, coat wrapped around his head for an hour, until he had got up and decided to help Cassia in the kitchen, leaving Brandon to sort the remaining drugs and money by himself. He wasn't much help in the kitchen as Cassia simply tasked him with peeling and chopping some carrots while she dealt with the potatoes and placed the meat in the oven, and he'd surprised her at the speed he finished with the carrots, meaning he got to upgrade and boil the kettle for gravy and also to make them all coffee. There were no tea bags, Ivan made a mental note to request some when whoever it was went shopping, so once again was left with Coffee, which was better than having something cold to drink, which the only options in that area seemed to be milk, pure apple juice and water. He would probably have a glass of apple juice with his dinner. Cassia then left him to watch the food, the carrot pan almost boiled over in her absence and he had to rush to transfer it to the sink to pour away some of the liquid, almost managing to burn himself on the hot metal, before returning it back to the gas hob to cook. Both the carrots and the potatoes were fully cooked when Cassia returned, and seeing as she had left a potato masher on the sideboard, he had started to attack the potatoes. She left him to it, and the two of them successfully plated three portions of beef, carrots and mashed potatoes which they ate on the sofa, Brandon leaning forwards to turn on the television as Ivan placed a plate on his lap. He sat down with his own as the screen flickered into life, the BBC One screen displaying itself with one of the usual voices announcing the programming schedule for the next few hours; according to the lady, it was time for the six o'clock news, and when the BBC News music took over, the image of a brunette woman appeared on the screen, lips tightly pursed together.  Next to her sat a grey haired man, tapping some paper against his leg – when he was sure he was live on air, he looked up at the camera.  
“Welcome to BBC News at six with Mark Daniels and Elizabeth Jones. Our main headlines tonight.” The screen changed; displaying an area cordoned off by a thick line of blue police tape appeared on the screen. The Thames was visible in the background, “a police officer has been shot dead in London. Police have reason to believe he was shot attempting to apprehend a suspected drug handler.” A man's voice announced. Ivan put down his fork.  
“The new proposed scheme to replace GCSEs has been scrapped.” The woman, Jones, put in as the displayed image shifted once more to a room of teenagers writing at single desks in a silent room. The image merely held for a few seconds before it changed once more, to a picture of a cat.  
“The prime ministers cat has gone missing. We help begin the search.” The introduction music began to play then, with the pulsating orb of red spinning on the screen towards them, beeps counting down to a small drum-roll before the two newsreaders were displayed back on the screen.  
“To our main headline.” The man started, and the image of the police tape was shown again, blowing slightly in the breeze, “A police officer, now identified as John Roberts, was shot dead in London today. Police claim he was attempting to arrest a criminal suspect.” The male newsreader repeated himself, “his patrol partner, Dominic White, who was admitted to hospital with a broken nose and rib, has made a report.” The screen flashed white, and a block of black text began to appear, letter by letter.  
“John and were on duty patrolling the Thames area today when we noticed two individuals, one female and one male, emerging from a car park we have previously identified as a drug dealing hot spot. The boy was carrying a bag.” She broke off, taking a break. Ivan found himself looking at Cassia, who was carefully pushing mashed potato onto her fork, unaffected by a headline relating to herself. Ivan found himself slightly soothed, “When we started to approach, the suspects broke into a run. I chased after the girl who led me down an alleyway and physically attacked me. I suspect she may have been a member of the rising worldwide gang of partnerless individuals. I am sorry to John's partner that I failed to protect him. It was reported that Mr White broke down crying after his statement.”  
“Over the decade, we've had an increase in children born without a partner.” Ivan looked back at the screen. A man labelled as 'Helen Frost, MP' was speaking into a microphone being held into her face, “We think that a new terrorist group, unconfirmed to have a name, are responsible for this. During the past year, we've managed to apprehend a few individuals, whom have been carrying a drug that laboratory testing proved was responsible for making foetuses merge in the womb. We have no names, or faces, but we believe that this group of people are planting this drug throughout our daily lives, finding ways to administer it so that we are not aware that we have been targeted. It can only be assumed that this is part of a greater plan to destroy all we have built by taking away what makes us human – or bonds. We are doing our best to track these people and put an end to this disgusting crime against our society.” She finished, frowning deeply and shaking his head in an angry manner as the microphone was pulled away from her. When a picture of the dead man, one of those photographs sent in from a family album, appeared to screen, Ivan realised a smile had escaped onto his lips. He wore it proudly as he ate.


	7. Chapter Six

The next day started earlier, at seven. Again, Ivan had been confined to the sofa, and again during the night he had been awoken, this time by Brandon leaving rather than arriving. He had taken his leave not long after dinner, and then sometime after Ivan had settled down on the sofa, Brandon emerged from his room and made a beeline for the exit, careful not to create too much sound as he left. Ivan had used his new mobile phone, which was in his coat pocket that he had been using as a blanket, to check the time since it was too dark to read his pocket watch which was somewhere on the floor, and had found it was a few minutes past midnight. He waited awhile, around twenty minutes, before he opened up the text messaging application and selected to compose a message to the contact on his phone named with a dash. He had hesitated, unsure of what to type, and then decided to scrap to the message; after another five minutes, he had opened the contact and selected the option to ring – he was on the verge of giving up when the calling tone cut off mid-ring. Brandon had sounded quite breathless when he spoke, posing a question of what was wrong. Ivan had simply gone straight to the point and asked him where he was. Brandon had replied that he had business to attend to, an emphasis on business, and then informed it that it kept everything working smoothly before cutting him off. Ivan had pulled a face, not quite sure to make of that answer and glared down at the screen of the phone until went blank before he curled back up and went back to sleep. Brandon failed to wake him when he returned, which he did, as at ten to seven he had been the one to prod him awake and shove a coffee in his face. He'd drank it, while Brandon had gone about changing the dressing on his head, and then claimed the bathroom to change and clean himself while Cassia and Brandon had made the preparations for the day, and sure enough he was handed back his ear camera as soon as he set foot back into the main room. Cassia and himself had eventually left the flat at seven twenty, with fifty pounds in cash, to pay not only for dinner but for travel fares, and the rucksack, which Cassia opted to carry. Ivan also had his doughnut from yesterday, although he was quite sure at this point that it had likely been crushed when he rolled on it sometime during the night.   
They were early for the train at Charlton station giving time for Cassia to purchase two tickets for a journey to Cannon Street, which happened to be early – they were waiting five minutes for the train to leave once they boarded, and then Ivan was presented with twenty one minutes of London scenery as the crossed the city, several points of interest sparking his attention; he spent the whole journey with his head firmly twisted towards the window, chin rested on his hand. Cassia had to tug his coat to get his attention when they arrived at Cannon Street. At Cannon Street, they departed the train and took a long flight of stairs to the underground terminal.  
“Which one?” Ivan looked up at the departure screen, trying to read the destinations of all the trains before the display changed to page two.  
“District line.” Cassia handed him a ticket. She slid hers into the machine that blocked them from continuing and the gate opened, the ticket emerging at the other end. She retrieved it and stepped through as the little doors closed behind her.  
“There are two.” Ivan pointed out as the screen changed back to page one, “Upminster and...Barking.”  
“It doesn't matter, they both stop at Whitechapel.” Cassia followed his gaze up to the screen, “Barking is three minutes.” She observed. Ivan placed the ticket she had given him into the slot, mirroring Cassia's earlier actions to get himself on the other side of the barrier, ticket and all. He followed Cassia down to the District line, where they waited idly on the platform for four minutes before the underground train arrived. Then it was eight minutes of sitting sideward on a fast moving vehicle with nothing to see out of the windows. Ivan used to time to retie his scarf and flatten his fringe, slightly nervous about his second assignment. The chances of being caught by the police on this operation were higher than yesterday's tasks, yet yesterday had fallen on that side of the risk. He took a deep breath.  
“Our stop.” Cassia bounced up from her seat as the train ground to a halt, approaching the sliding doors before they had the chance to open. When they did, she was the first off the train, with Ivan having to muscle his way through a small crowd to join her on the platform. She again wasted no time, briskly walking towards the exit and letting herself through with her ticket, only stopping to wait for Ivan at the foot of the stairs. She was used to working on her own, Ivan understood that, but he would have preferred her to be by his side while he pushed through the crowd, at least until he gained enough confidence and understanding to perform like she did. Reunited, they jogged up the long staircase, emerging back into the light of the day. It was a brighter day than yesterday, and Ivan was beginning to feel warm beneath his coat; the weather forecast, which had been after the evening news, had said it would be warm today, so Ivan had neglected to put one of his waistcoats, but it seemed as if he would be resolved to carrying his coat over one arm if the temperature continued to rise. Cassia herself seemed unaffected in her black leather jacket, but if he had learnt anything in the past few days it was that Cassia was a master of her own emotions. He envied her for that, that and numerous other things.  
They reached the Royal Hospital at half past eight, entering through the main entrance and walking side by side. Following Cassia's lead they took the route to the maternity ward though several doors and flights of stairs and twisting corridors, each one painted an eggshell colour of blue and smelling of disinfectant. During the trek, a couple of passing nurses smiled in his direction, and Ivan did his best to return each welcome with his own warm smile – not that he meant it, they wouldn't have meant it if they knew who he was. He was also witness to a man being wheeled between two wards to a bed, sat up and cursing in a variety of colourful language. When they finally reached the maternity ward, they were greeted by the sight of a doctor carrying away a single screaming mass, a woman crying into her husband's arms. Ivan wanted to look away as the doctor did her duty, silencing the newborn's screams by placing a hand over its face, but was unable to do so until the child's limbs went limp, life taken as soon as it had begun. He felt nauseous. Ivan had never found it in his heart to hate anyone, until now.  
“And they say we're the bad people.” Brandon spoke in quiet tones, breaking his journey-long silence. It was a comment that needed no answer, nor had he one to give. When the feeling of sickness passed, he felt anger rise within, but restrained it, nodding to Cassia to signal he was ready to move along. They took the path down the middle of ward until Cassia spotted a cupboard and then leaned in close to him.  
“Make sure nobody knows I'm in this room.” She murmured, reaching for the handle and slipping away. Not wanting to look suspicious, Ivan moved away from the doorway and looked around. The doctor with the dead baby had left the ward, to dispose of the body, there was no doubt on that, but a ginger haired nurse was patrolling to his left. Other than that, the ward appeared to be mostly empty, some of the beds surrounded by mint green curtains that looked ugly against the walls. A couple of women were in beds exposed fully to the ward, some sleeping, and one wide awake with a newspaper on her lap; she had a rather small bump, which suggested she was in the early stages of pregnancy, which was when Ivan assumed the drug Cassia was most likely planting now would be most successful. He wondered how she would react when they took her baby away, nine months was a long time to carry something inside of you. The woman looked up from her paper as the nurse approached, engaging in some kind of conversation. He realised he probably looked quite ridiculous standing in the middle of the ward, but nobody seemed to care, it was only when the nurse left the pregnant woman to her newspaper and turned in his direction that he straightened out his coat and approached.  
“Excuse me. Can you tell me where the...” He pointed at his head, “head wound ward place is please?” The nurse looked at him with some confusion.  
“Is this a new injury that needs to be seen to or a check-up?” She asked, looking him up and down.  
“I have an appointment.” Ivan said simply, his idea of being vague not quite being broadcast with his choice of words.  
“Carry on down the ward, take the stairs downwards and it's on your right.” The nurse offered quickly, “excuse me, sir.” She went to move past him, heading in the direction of the door. Ivan couldn't let that happen. He made a noise and purposely slipped, earning himself a glare from a pregnant woman who promptly raised a book to her face to block him out of her view, “are you okay, sir?” The nurse had stopped in her tracks and turned around, his tactic obviously enough to gain her attention, “I can call for help?” She pointed towards the room, suggesting there was some kind of telephone in there.  
“No, no, it's fine.” Ivan insisted, cursing internally. She raised both her eyebrows so that they vanished under her fringe and turned away once more, the room within arm’s length.  
“You need to move that nurse away from the door, Ivan.” The reminder from Brandon was no help. Out of ideas, Ivan cleared his throat.  
“Actually, ma'am, I think I may have been falling for you.”   
“I'm sorry?” She turned around, seemingly surprised by his comment. It was the most ridiculous thing Ivan had ever said in his life, and he quite wished he had chosen something else to say to draw her attention away from the room; now her attention was on him; he had to keep it that way.   
“You have very pretty eyes.” Ivan stepped up to her, cutting her away from the door with his body. She was almost the same height as he was, but he was still taller, so blocking the door from view wasn't a problem, “hazel, not the most common eye colour.” He observed.  
“You own eyes are not so bad, but if I was to comment on your most redeeming feature, it would be your hair,” She raised a hand to touch it, and he let her; it took all his nerve not to shy away, but this is what he had started, and what he must finish, She was looking directly into his eyes now. He moved in right up close to her, not quite comfortable with what he was doing.  
“Shall I make a comment on your hair? I'd say it fits you perfectly, orange is the colour of fire, and fire is hot.” Ivan did his best to keep up a smile while he spoke, silently wincing at each of the responses he elected for. He brushed a strand of her shoulder-length hair behind her ear.  
“I'll give you what you desire.” She smiled, fingers brushing against the side of his coat and closing around the edge, pulling him in. Ivan felt his stomach tighten. And then she leaned in, pressing her lips against his and forcefully pushing him backwards against the wall, taking advantage of the moment he had provided her with. His free arms became trapped between his body and hers whilst his right fell from her head to her neck.  
“Coast is kind of clear, Cassia.” Brandon informed, seeming a little put out. Ivan found himself going along with the kiss, enjoying the sensation of her lips on his. Her hand found its way to his face, and cupped it, “Ivan, Cassia is out.”   
“Excuse me.” Cassia announced her presence. The nurse pulled back from him instantly, withdrawing her hand from Ivan's neck. Her eyes, sparkling, were still fixed on his when he opened his own, but they soon left to find to the speaker, “my brother and I need to go now. I'm sure you can resume this later.”  
“Oh.” The nurse sounded disappointed. She turned back to look at Ivan, “I'll give you my mobile number. You can give me a call if, if you want to go for coffee or something.” She flashed him a wicked grin, and he nodded numbly, “do you have any paper?”  
“No.” Ivan shook his head. She took a pen out of her top pocket and grabbed his hand, putting the pen to his palm. She wrote her name – Alyssia Woods, and then a mobile telephone number in black ink. She winked at him as she backed away, giving him the space to move. He took it, dipping his head to Alyssia and then strode off at a speed that it took Cassia several seconds to catch him.  
“What was that about?” Cassia asked when they were out of hearing range.   
“The master's guide to distractions by Ivan.” Brandon replied for him. Ivan could feel his cheeks burning, “quite some talent.”  
“Not my favoured method of changing the focus of attention.” Cassia commented, pushing open one of the double doors that marked the end of the ward.  
“I don't think you could make a judgement until you've tried it.” Brandon said plainly. Not wanting to bother with the stairs, Ivan went to push the button to signal for the lift.   
“I don't think you can make a judgement either.” Cassia knocked his hand away from the lift control panel and continued on to the staircase, “I think Ivan's the first of us to kiss someone, right?”  
“You would be incorrect.” Brandon returned.  
“I'm disappointed you didn't tell me. I assume this has been in the last three years.” Cassia sighed. Ivan did not see how it had to be, since emotional links did not keep them practically tethered to another until compulsory education, but he supposed society has evolved to accept intimate action under the age of sixteen was wrong, except for a few rare occasions when people had been able to sneak away from their partners – Ivan did not see the point of doing anything of that nature before the accepted boundary, maturity was not high enough, especially for the possible consequences – the emotional bond would make the partner very much aware of what the person was doing, easily landing them in a position where the law was ready to strike down hard and cast away the relationship they held dear; parents had that power. Ivan left them to their conversation, disinterested. He jogged down the stairs, wondering how the hospital operation had been so easy. With the government aware of what they were doing, surely they would have stationed more people on the maternity ward to prevent what they didn't want happening, but instead, as Ivan had heard it consistently mentioned on the News, they were implementing budget cuts to the NHS, which did quite the opposite effect and minimised the staff available. When they left the hospital, not only was Ivan surprised that they had made cleared the hospital without being challenged, but a police officer hanging around the door wished them a good day. Ivan thanked him and eagerly left the building.  
“What did you do in that room?” Ivan kick-started another conversation, seeing as Cassia and Brandon had long finished their discussion about his actions on the maternity ward, preferring to have this specific exchange of words in the street rather than in the confined space of a train.  
“It was a drug store cupboard.” Cassia replied, rather vague in her explanation. Purposely on not, Ivan could infer from that.  
“So you switched some of the pregnancy drugs for some of ours?” Ivan made his guess. Cassia nodded,  
“you're working things out, that's good.” Her tone seemed quite patronising, which Ivan wasn't fond of as a tone in whole. He let the conversation lie, the rest of the walk to the Whitechapel underground station completed in silence; and then the ride on the tube train was also completed in silence. At the Cannon Street change over, they spoke a few words again about the time of the train, but for the most part Ivan was once again self-absorbed. It would be easy to type the number he had been given into his phone and press the button to ring it, but instead he decided to scrub at the ink with his other hand, smudging it into black lines; that nurse probably would have done the same thing as that doctor, if she had been the one to see that infant into the world – yet the pen would not quite smudge to anything more than a blur and he was forced to leave it stained into his hand until he had access to soap and water. She had been pretty, and it had been pleasurable, but it was nothing but a distraction for action against what she condoned on her ward. Perhaps that was the way forwards, kissing pretty girls while Cassia did what she needed – he could live with that.


	8. Chapter Seven

They stopped off at the bakery after arriving at Charlton station, purchasing three steak and onion filled pastries and iced fingers to serve as desert, since Brandon had requested some lunch. Cassia went off ahead to deliver it while Ivan took the show walk back, giving himself more time to fully register the street names and the exact route he had to take. At one point an orange haired woman passed him, and his brain registered it as Alyssia Woods – he had to look twice to confirm it wasn't.  
“We have to deliver what we have left to the Norfolk transporter this afternoon.” Cassia explained when she returned. Ivan had sat himself down on a bench a couple of streets away, eating the remains of his iced finger. He still had the doughnut in his pocket, and reached for it once he was done, but Cassia had made no move to sit down, so he hesitated, “with a crime scene being at that favoured exchange area, we've had to direct the driver to one of our back-up locations, the walk is quite long.” Ivan didn't like walking was he eating, so left the doughnut to sit in his pocket.  After an hour of walking, Ivan wondered why they simply hadn't caught a bus or the tube, and when he voiced that, Brandon simply said that it was the easiest way to get a feel for London. After two hours, and his legs aching, they arrived in main London, the clock tower known as Big Ben and the houses of parliament towering over them, much more magnificent that Ivan had imagined; the place was scattered with tourists, cameras out and clicking away – he fit in well. They did not stay long, as much as Ivan would have like to, but continued following the Thames for a further quarter of an hour before breaking away from that path and moving into a location that looked more worn and less well kept. Cassia led him to the side of a road, where a white van was parked across the kerb. There was a man leaning against the van, arms folded in an irritated manner. When he saw them approaching, he threw up his hands.  
“I'm so done with you! One hour I have been waiting, one hour!”  
“Here.” Cassia handed him the rucksack. She must have taken the drugs she had traded at the hospital out when she stopped back at the flat, “our apologies.” She nodded her head in Ivan's direction, catching him midway through preparing the sit on the pavement to give his legs a rest, “new recruit.”  
“And this is all for the sake of keeping ourselves from the knife.” The man sighed, slapping a pile of twenty pound notes into Cassia's hand; he let out a long sigh and pulled open the door to his van, “want a lift?”  
“You can take us to Charlton.” Ivan stood up, quick to accept the offer before Cassia could refuse. He had no intention of walking another two hours back. The man gave a nod.  
“I can do that, yes. Upon the deal that you're not late again.” He climbed into the van and turned the key in the engine, sparking the vehicle to life.  
“Deal.” Ivan approached the other side and opened the door; stepping up into the van and settling himself down on the seat before shuffling into the middle to make room for Cassia, who seemed to be rather reluctant, but made no comment.  
“It'll be a half an hour run.” The driver explained, releasing the brake and spinning the wheel to remove them from the pavement with a bump, “I hate this job. I don't like driving. I'd much rather be studying languages, now they are interesting.”  
“I like science.” Ivan couldn't think of how to reply.  
“Then this is right up your alley, then isn't it? You analysed these drugs to see what they're made of yet?” He pushed the gear stick into second gear. Ivan shook his head, “it's got to be pretty interesting what stops babies fusing.” The wording of his sentence made Ivan frown. The drugs were designed to ensure the fusing in the womb. He thought over the sentence for a moment.  
“Evolution?” Ivan concluded. The man must think that evolution was responsible for their existences. It was a reasonable idea, once Ivan weighed up the facts. It was the same way he thought, technically, seeing the emotional bond as being a more of a weakness than a strength.  
“Evolution. That's what's causing the merging, yeah.” He flicked on his indicator and then turned onto a busy road, “that's what they're afraid of, change.”  
“And if someone in the government had a child that had been merged?” Ivan found himself asking, a reference to his own mother. As he asked, a car pulled in front of the van and the driver honked his horn loudly and swore.  
“I do not have time for this! I swear to god, one day I am going to drive my van into something important and laugh as I die.” He sounded bitter, “I'm sorry, did you say something?”  
“I said, what if someone in the government gave birth to a child that have been merged, surely that would begin to change perspectives?” Ivan tagged on a few words to his original question.  
“Of course it wouldn't. Cold hearted bastards wouldn't give a damn.”  
“You're right.” Ivan hung his head, slightly hurt by what had been said. But he was still alive, “so we live a life in which we're fighting for basic rights.”  
“No kid.” The man chuckled, “they're going to wipe us out. It won't be long before we've done our job disgracing ourselves and they ultimately combat merging. I sure as hell hope evolution comes back around and kicks them right where it hurts.”  
“We have to try though, every little helps. Start small, work up to big.” Ivan glanced over at Cassia, who had remained silent for the whole conversation; she was leaning against the back of her chair, eyes focused on the road outside the windscreen.  
“I can see you're new to this. I'm not going to go through it all with you, you'll learn for yourself soon enough, doing what you do. I've given up on the world. Count the days until you do to.” He went to adjust the mirror above Ivan's head as he cut the conversation with his final line, rendering Ivan speechless. The man's cynical view on society was somewhat disappointing, but Ivan felt somewhat more informed, even if some of the things the man had said had doubted his knowledge of the facts of what he was doing. He made himself a vow to investigate what the drugs actually were made of when he got back to the flat, which took longer than the half an hour the man had specified because of traffic; he dropped them outside of Charlton station at five past two, told them to 'scram' and drove off, continuing his own journey to Norfolk while they began another walk back to flat number four via the side entrance, deviating from the route Ivan had partly committed to memory from this morning to purchase most of the newspapers available in the first newsagents they came across.. When they arrived back, Ivan sat himself down on his sofa, as he had claimed it to be, and pulled out his phone. Seeing as there was none of the drugs left for him to examine, the only resource he had was the internet, and despite the government's best, he knew some dark corners had escaped being censored. He assumed his phone had an internet connection that bypassed the phone networks, just like the messaging on calling did and loaded the menu screen to find the internet icon. Perhaps he would personalise the device in his spare time, get a few applications to pass the time; he found the internet icon and tapped it, slowly typing in 'terrorist drug group' to see what came up.  
“Coffee?” Brandon asked him, leaning over the back of the sofa. Ivan jumped and dropped his phone.  
“No thanks, I'm not too fond.” He finally decided to out his issue, “I prefer tea. I could go and purchase some tea bags now though for my own convenience.” He stood up, sweeping the phone off the ground, “and I could buy a film to watch this evening. Do you have any preferences?” After two evenings of nothing but idle chatter and quiet, Ivan decided he would benefit from one of his home comforts.  
“It would be interesting to see what you choose.” Brandon shrugged and vanished into the kitchen. Cassia didn't look up from her stack of newspapers.  
“Fair enough.” Ivan still had a small collection of notes inside one of his pockets, the one without the doughnut, for emergencies. Rather than asking where Brandon had put the rest of his money, he decided to dip into that. He left the flat; there was a TESCOs on the route to Charlton station – this was a simple memory test. After taking a couple of wrong turns and having to correct himself, he walked into the supermarket and found himself clueless to where he would find what he was looking for, until he realised that each aisle had a sign above it listing what, in general categories, was on that aisle. He found that he had to walk all the way to the back of the shop to find where the tea was, and then there were numerous brands to choose from. He rubbed his chin as he looked over the choices on offer, he could feel some stubble growing; that was something else he decided to pick up – a razor, he wouldn't feel comfortable shaving and he hadn't bought one when he bought a toothbrush yesterday morning during his clothes shopping trip. Fingers hovering, he eventually dropped his hand on a box labelled 'Twinnings', picked it up and tucking it under one arm, and began his hunt for the aisle he would be able to find himself a razor. The toiletries aisle was of course at the front of the shop, meaning he had to retrace his steps to go back to where he started, plucking a razor with bright packaging off the shelf without bothering to read what it said before moving to the end of the aisle to find where his last stop before the checkout would be; the media aisle happened to be in a more convenient location, just in front of the tills. Star Trek was available for four pounds, the 2009 film that was, which was understandable considering last month's release of Into Darkness, which Ivan had quite a while back vowed to himself he was going to get hold of as soon as it was released on DVD. Not bothering to check the other selections of films on display, his hand closed around one of the copies of Star Trek and clutched it to his chest, continuing down the aisle to reached the payment area; there was what was labelled as 'self-checkout machine' free to he approached it, setting his three items down on the side, he leaned back to get a good view of the options presented to him on the screen – start, a large green button told him, so he pressed it and then was told to scan his items. He picked up the box of tea and placed it on the platform, wondering why it wouldn't scan. When he picked it up, the machine bleeped and Ivan violently jumped, so much so that he dropped the tea, the box bouncing off the edge of the counter and onto the floor. Somewhat embarrassed, he quickly picked it up and placed it on the other side of the machine before repeating the process with the other two items and then feeding a twenty pound note in the machine when it requested payment. He gathered up his items, took his change and the receipt and left the shop, waiting until he was out of the doors before he whipped out his phone to continue where he had left off; the internet page had failed to load – something about lack of connection. He supposed he didn't really need to know – just a curiosity, as the man with the van had said. He tightened his grip on his items and took a brisk walk to the flat, to be greeted instantly by a pair of grim faces.  
“You need to see this.” Brandon relieved him of his load, handing it to Cassia, and beckoning him towards his room, “video clip.” He pushed open his door, grasping Ivan by the shoulder and forcing him down into the desk chair to view the screen. Obviously both of the camera links were black, but a video was loaded and paused on the screen; it was from BBC News, with a newsreader Ivan didn't recognise, but across the table sat someone Ivan knew well – Xenia Vargas. Dressed in her work attire, his sister had one arm rested upon the round table in the news room, and one partly in the air, mid-gesture. Her short hair was neat and styled, contrary to how he had seen her last. Brandon leaned over him and clicked the video to life.  
“-th our biggest developments occurring now, it is only logical that we act now,” Xenia was explaining, “we removed the bacteria so the plant can thrive again, so to speak.” She did have Ivan's Biology A-Level to her name, he understood why she chose to use those words, to remind herself it was hers and assure the world it did belong to her – but why would they challenge that if he didn't exist?   
“Do you have any plans of action?” The newsreader asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.  
“Obviously I am not free to discuss that. However I can reveal that we have an abundance of data on their movements. We have them pinned down.” She leaned back, looking rather smug.  
“So it should be a quick operation?” The newsreader posed another question, leaning forwards as if to restore the original distance between them. Xenia shook her head.  
“I cannot disclose anything more. It will take what it takes.” She smoothed down her blazer, avoiding his gaze, “I am sure you have already been made aware of the new law coming into play next year.”  
“The one that concerns all births needing to take place in registered hospitals and health centres?” It clicked then, and Ivan felt an awful sensation in his chest; his hands curled into fists, but he could do nothing but sit in numb horror at what his sister was saying. He was her brother, yet she still saw his kind as comparable to bacteria? Bacteria was one of the strongest forces of nature, he would show her that, after mourning. Blocking out the sound of the video, Ivan closed his eyes and dug up his memories of Xenia, attempting to exterminate them from his mind – for some reason he chose the mental image of Cassia shooting Xenia at the end of each memory to suit that purpose, but then it slowly morphed into him, and he was killing his sister, over and over again, a cold metal gun sitting snugly against the palm of his hand, and his finger sitting on the trigger as if he was a trained professional. At the end of each memory, he would turn and face her and pull at the trigger, unblinking as the bullet cut her down.  
“Ivan?” Brandon was calling to him, dragging him away from his killing spree, “it's unfortunate the situation has intensified when you have only just joined us.” Ivan found that his imaginary gun had run out of bullets. He hit the table, which resulted in a spasm of pain running up his arm.   
“That's my sister.” Ivan said flatly.  
“Oh.” Brandon's tone was equally as lifeless, “sorry.”  
“She's part of the government. That's how they all are.” Ivan stood up, pushing past Brandon with some force. He flung himself on his sofa and covered himself with his coat. He imagined himself some new bullets and put them in his imaginary gun.


	9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight:   
The stars were out, cloaked by a light flurry of clouds. Outside a brightly lit hotel, Ivan stood, dressed in a fancy long-tailed waistcoat and a bow-tie; he had permitted himself to remove his bandage, and what remained was ugly, thick stitching under what was clearly red, somewhat covered by his fringe. In the dull light, it was barely visible. Beside him, Cassia stood, wearing a purple dress with her hair curled. Dressed up, she looked much older than her sixteen years, which was obviously important entering a place like this. She carried a small handbag that matched her dress, a bag of drugs hidden in the lining. There was a maternity party here tonight, for someone important, not that Ivan knew who they were. Cassia had conserved a packet, just for this purpose. She was smiling at him.  
“Are you ready?” Ivan nodded. He would never be more ready, days of mulling over what a calamity his life was wouldn't fix a thing. He held out his arm; Cassia placed hers through it, marching him through the grand double doors. Inside, people will milling around the lobby, clinking wine glasses and chatting quietly. It seemed to be an odd place to hold a party, but the rich were the rich, and he imagined the whole hotel had been booked out for this occasion.  
“Guest passes?” A man, stocky build, approached. Cassia flashed a card at him, and he moved to let them pass, “have a good evening, ma'am, and sir.” The hall was long, decorated with vases of roses on every windowsill, of which there were many, about a metre apart each; they were arched, and delicate looking, but everything in the room looked that way. But it must have withstood many years, for the building was anything but modern in structure. Each wall had about fifty windows, about a hundred metres in length. It was an exceptionally large lobby.  
“Just to think, I should have had all this.” He breathed, looking up around at the architecture; it was incredibly detailed, thin vines reaching up to the ceiling like plants searching for sunlight, that sunlight they would have received from daylight if they were real, by the huge glass dome that encased the building, currently projecting the pale moonlight into the centre of the room on the second floor, accessible by the two curved staircases on either side of the room. Seeing as most of the guests were gathered up there, they took the right staircase and ascended.  
“It wouldn't be as beautiful then.” Cassia replied eventually, “we won't have long before they realise we're not supposed to be here, search for a woman with a bump.” Acknowledging her, Ivan moved his gaze down from the ceiling and began to explore the rest of the room as he felt her arm slip from his. People were moving, and his eyes struggled to catch them all as they mingled in and out, dressed in various colours of the rainbow; the men were predominately dressed in black, but it was a woman he was looking for. He finished one side of the room, but a large group of women moved into the cluster he had already examined the best he could from where he was and he had to start all over again.  
“Looking for someone?” Someone touched his back. Ivan tensed, “now I understand why you haven't called.” Alyssia. She circled him like a predator stalking prey, “I didn't catch you name?” Her hair was radiant, flicking up at the bottom where it should have touched her shoulders – they matched.  
“Ivan.” He replied before he could stop himself. A collection of swear words came to mind. She was leaning into him now, ready to make the kill.  
“Eye-van.” She pronounced his name slowly, placing a hand on his chest.   
“Ivan, Cassia's found the target.” Brandon reported. Alyssia leaned in closer.  
“Two times in one day, I'm a lucky woman.” She purred, pressing her lipstick coated lips against his. He did not let her in.  
“I need to go.” He said softly, pushing her away. Dressed in gold, Alyssia looked captivating, and there she was, prepared to become his, and he wanted her; one meeting had been enough to tell him that. He turned his back on her and walked away.  
“Straight ahead.” Brandon continued to instruct. Ivan spotted Cassia easily, for he knew her quite well now, in appearance. He strode over, finding her to be in the process of handing over the drugs to a pregnant woman, both of them beaming.  
“I hope it all goes well for you, ma'am. Congratulations.” Cassia bowed her head.   
“Thank you, on both accounts.” The woman smiled, smiling down at the drugs she had been given, unaware of their true purpose, “is this your friend?”  
“A pleasure.” Ivan nodded.  
“We need to take our leave now. Thank you for the wonderful party.” Cassia raised her head from her bow, taking Ivan's arm once more to lead him away, operation cleanly done. They passed under the glass ceiling, the moonlight casting long shadows across the floor. A third shadow joined them, and grabbed his wrist.  
“They're not medicinal drugs are they?” Alyssia hissed on his ears, “they're those drugs, the ones I've heard about. You're one of them, aren't you?” Her voice gradually increased in volume, face contorting. He wanted to tell her it wasn't true, but that was a lie. Emotions, he told himself, cast them away like Cassia does. Then you can conquer the world.  
“Get out of there!” Brandon urged.   
“You wanted the drug cupboard, you panicked when I went over to it, and I just saw you now.” She continued, “I suppose I was a fool to think I was becoming part of some exciting romance with a stranger.” Some of the closest faces turned to look; they were illuminated in the light of the moon exposed. Cassia tugged on his arm; Alyssia dug her nails into the other.  
“Now!” Brandon's voice was bordering on a shout. Ivan's hand dropped from Cassia's grasp and fell to her bag, unclipping the latch. He felt his fingers close around cold metal.  
“But you, you're vile. One of those disgusting little creatures that never should have been born into this world, partnerless, emotionless, you want destruction for us all, don't you?!” Alyssia stepped back, out of the light and began to sob, turning every face in the room, “I have them-m. Thes-se are the ones wh-ho have b-” The shot rang out across the hall, echoing from every pillar and window. He was holding the gun, without a silencer, out in front of him, finger still tensed on the trigger. Several screams came in the aftermath, as Alyssia crumbled, heart marked with a hole. His hands were shaking.   
“Run.” Cassia's tranquillity crumbled. Weaponless, she dashed away, taking the left staircase at a bid for her freedom. Guards were emerging from side rooms, pulling out guns and pointing them, Ivan had his dash, running at the railing that ran across the second floor between the two sets of stairs. As he got closer, he could feel hear his own heartbeat in his ears, the sound of his blood pumping dulling the sound of the room.  
“Everybody down!” Someone shouted, but it sounded distant. Another gunshot rang out; something whizzed past his ear. Ivan launched himself into the air, and for a moment it felt like he was flying, a complete euphoria surging through his body, and then was falling, falling down to the first floor, a much bigger jump than he had attempted at the river Thames, and he felt it as he hit the ground, knee audibly cracking. His arms flew out to stop his face from being damaged, and the gun spun away, skittering across the floor, along with his small camera device, which he managed to reach before it had gotten very far. He didn't have the time to replace it, and subsequently lost Brandon, just as Brandon lost him – he was alone. He went to scramble for the gun, but his knee wouldn't work, and the shouting was gaining on him; another gunshot and he forced himself to his feet. He should run, but he wanted the gun, but he couldn't find it. He searched frantically, spinning around with his eyes darting all over the place; people backed away when he approached, except for one who put their foot down firmly on the pistol as he reached out for it.  
“Ivan, listen to me. That drug isn't what you think it is.” Eliana. What was Eliana doing here? He didn't want to look at her, he tried to tug the gun out from under her heel, “they do the opposite of what the media says, Ivan. Please, look after yourself.” Her leg buckled, as if he had hit her in the back of her knee, releasing the pistol, “remember that I love you, little brother.” Ivan snatched his weapon, turning away from her. Xenia betrayed him, what reason did he have to love Eliana as a sister? He couldn't hate anyone, no, not until now, now it was everyone.  
“I ca-can use this!” Ivan could feel his leg threatening to collapse under him, but he couldn't feel the pain. He was shaking more violently now, struggling to point his weapon at anyone, or anything. He couldn't see Cassia anywhere, was she okay? Had she got out? He could see Eliana, shaking and crying; he had no tears. He couldn't quite comprehend what she had said either – opposite? The drugs ensured no merging in the womb? Then what was he doing, what were they doing? His head was a mess, ability to think lost where the moonlight shone. He saw Cassia then, making her sprint for the exit; he held his ground, ready to cover her. He hadn't known what he was doing, she had. But did she know what drugs she was dealing? Did that mean that Cassia and Brandon had lied to him? His leg began to lower him towards the ground, but he forced himself upright, slowly backing away as the armed guards began to form a line in front of him.  
“Drop the gun!” One of them shouted, “drop it now!” Ivan shook his head, maintaining a firm expression.  
“I can't do that. I cannot, cannot let you, emotionally driven people; condemn me for who I am!” He shouted back, “I am a human being!”  
“Drop the gun! I won't tell you again sir!” Sir, they had the nerve to call him sir? His brain had gone void of all thought now. He fired shots into thin air, hand jerking with every release of the trigger, running backwards to the best of his ability, until he dropped. Gunshots rang out in reply, but sailed harmlessly over his head, the timing of his leg failing being perfect. He dragged himself behind a pillar. The hotel didn't seem beautiful any longer, and not because of the escalating situation, but the wonder was gone, shattered. He couldn't bear to look at the arched windows and the patterned pillars, let alone spare a glass back at the glass roof, the moment the glass broke into a hundred tiny shards.  
“It's game over! Put the gun down and step out from behind the pillar!” The voice of authority called out again. Ivan wasn't going to do that. Instead, he tore his pocket watch from is waistcoat and threw it into the room. Of course, it wasn't a bomb, but the crowd reacted so, screaming intensifying. The pocket watch was gone now, his last family tie. Going back to get it would be suicide.  He was no longer Ivan Vargas; he had never been Ivan Vargas. His name was Ivan, he was nineteen years old and he was special. Special or not, the exit to the hotel was a good seventy five metres away, and death waited for him. But this was not how he was going to go out, having achieved nothing. If Eliana was right about the drugs, which she couldn't be, she had to be lying to get him to stop and solve a problem without the need of wasting bullets, he had done nothing but condemn his own existence. He needed to make things right, because he was better, he knew he was. Not emotionally compromised by another – he only had his own demons. Eliana had once called him the kind-hearted one, the one who couldn't hurt anyone, the one who couldn't hate anyone, the one who worked for the world over himself. He certainly wasn't that any more, not with what he was now, not a Vargas, and his own intentions for his own self-preservation. Standing behind the pillar, he tested the strength in his leg; after some short rest, it appeared to be operational again, but Ivan had no idea how long it would be before it buckled again, as he did not know the damage caused. He took a deep intake of breath; he was working for the world as far as he was concerned, it would be a much better place if the human race was replaced by better minds and better skilled people, they would progress faster, rather than blowing themselves up trying to send rockets into space on the faint hope of contact with an alien species. If Ivan was an alien, he wouldn't want to visit a species at war with each other in various countries because of oil. They wouldn't need to fight if they started again, removed the world of the greedy; the people born as pairs were the bacteria on the plant, which was why the plant was rotting. He took another deep breath, and stepped out from the other side of the pillar, gun still tightly gripped in his hand. The little camera was too.  
“I'm still here, Brandon.” He said quietly, “I'm okay.” There were sounds emitting from it, but he couldn't hear them – it sounded like the boy with the blue glasses was shouting.  
“Gun down! There will be no more warnings!” The guard called out again. The reality was, it was a stalemate as long as Ivan's gun had bullets, which he believed it still did; they also had to consider injury to civilians, so could only shoot when he was in the clear. Ivan, of course, had stepped out of the pillar in the presence of other humans. He found Eliana and grabbed her, cocking his pistol against her neck. If she loved him at all as a brother, she would do this for him.  
“Move.” Ivan demanded, mustering a cold tone. Eliana nodded, walking backwards in time with him, purposely slow. He could hear the gasping in the crowd, this would be a party to talk about, one that would make the news. How delightful, two shots of publicity in two days.  
“Ivan, when you get out of here, get out of this place for good.” Eliana begged, “I don't know what has happened to you but, I'm sorry for everything.” Ivan didn't know if she was saying things because she meant it, or because she wanted him to simply let her go so they could shoot him. He chose not to respond, keeping the gun firmly in place despite his shaking body. Eliana could probably feel that. He didn't care, he was a murderer now, and they said after the first, it was easy. Probably why Cassia didn't even blink after she killed that police officer. They were about half way towards the door now, the guard slowly creeping after him, ready to strike whenever he dropped his guard. He had no idea what he was going to do when he released Eliana, short of running and hoping his leg worked and that he was able to dodge the bullets for long enough to lose them, and then return back to the flat, reunite with Brandon and Cassia and tell them what he had found out about the drugs. Of course they wouldn't know, they wouldn't lie to him, they were his friends, his only friends in the world.  
“When I say now, run at them.” Ivan murmured into Eliana's ear.  
“Run at them?” Eliana's voice was shaking.  
“Run at the guards. They can't shoot then.” Ivan explained, pointing out the obvious, “if you don't, I-I'll put a bullet in your back.” He added on a threat, pressing the pistol down harder against her neck. She nodded in understanding. He waited a little longer, preparing himself and counting down the windows to his great escape. Five, four, his knee was getting stiff; three, two, one.  
“Now.” Ivan removed the gun from her neck. True to her word, she ran forwards.  
“Stupid girl!” One of the guards yelled, “you stupid bitch!” Ivan did not hang around to hear what additional insults they prepared, turning on his heel and darting towards the pair of doors, hitting them hard and falling through them, the glass shattering behind him as the guns began to roar.


	10. Chapter Nine

Street lights lit his path, guiding his sprint through the darkness; distant sirens were audible, muffled by his loud footfalls aggressively bouncing from the pavement. Ivan's lungs were burning, but he couldn't stop. The initial numbness had faded, and Ivan found that his whole body was aching. The gun was still in his hand, and he ought to throw it, but it was his only protection. Eventually, the sirens slowly faded, and the lights dimmed; he took the left into one of the many London alleyways and sat himself down with his back to a restaurant bin, listening to the soft classical music that came from within, muffled by the brick wall that separated himself from the source. Letting out shaky breaths, he finally allowed himself to mull over the nights events, starting from the beginning up until the current moment in time; he blamed Alyssia Woods, the dead girl. But that had been his own doing, hindsight told him there had to be another way from him to deal with her, in the hospital and now – shooting people with imaginary guns inside one’s head was completely different from the reality of pulling the trigger on the real thing, the real person removed from many lives, not just the memories of one; but she had deserved it, because she was one of them, a precious ordinary person, perfect. He slammed his fist into the wall, and it came away bleeding at the knuckles, the wet liquid running down across the back of his hand as he examined it in the pale light, stinging. He watched the blood run to his shirt, red patched blossoming on the edge of his sleeves – he was losing sight of himself, what was he? He raised the other hand to his head and touched his slowly healing wound, stitched by Brandon. He should tell them he was okay. Trying to reattach it to his ear proved fruitless, as his hand was still shaking – he dropped it and left it. Brandon would have probably seen his poor attempt anyway, which should have been enough to tell him he was alive. He had been a fool to punch that wall, but somehow he felt like he was justified in punishing himself for what he had done, yet he didn't understand his remorse for his orchestration of the demise of the wicked. He was fine.  
The sirens were getting louder again, so Ivan picked himself up, careful to reunite the palm of his hand with the camera device, joints reluctant to work with his desires; he turned his back to the road, briskly walking through the blackened lane, until he found and wall, and climbed it, using the side building walls to push himself up high enough to grasp the top and haul himself onto the flat brickwork; he stood for a moment, triumphant before he lowered himself down on the other side, knowing that another jump would finish off his weakened knee. The flat wasn't too far away now, as the road ahead was the one responsible for leading him to the apartment labelled as number four. He approached the end of the second half of the alleyway; in a luminous green jacket, with the letters P, O, L, I, C and E written across it, a man stood with his back to him in the middle of the road, holding out his hand as a car approached and signalling for it to turn around and take another route to wherever its final destination was. Ivan took that as an opportunity to cross the road, lowering his head as he slowly walked behind the officers back, only for the man to turn around and call him when he arrived on the other pavement. Breaking once more into a dash he took himself down the first alley that he had known, police officer not far behind, having the advantage over Ivan's damaged knee. One of the metal bins was tipped, just as Ivan recalled, and he jump kicked it as he ran past, bringing up both legs to force it backwards at high speed straight into his pursuers legs, doing as Ivan intended and knocking him down like a bowling pin. Ivan was free to reach the end of the alleyway at his current speed and make the necessary direction change to lead him to his home; a glance over his shoulder informed him the chase was over.  
“Brandon, it's me, Ivan.” Ivan lifted the tiny camera so it pointed at his face, doing the best he could to hold it steady and he laboriously ascended the stairs in the usual entrance, “can you come and let me in when I knock?” Obviously without the device connected, Ivan would be unable to hear anything Brandon said in response, so phrasing it as a question wasn't the brightest idea Ivan had had all night, and most of his ideas, he'd been quite proud of, considering his major screw up. Brandon would understand. He went to knock with his right hand, and then remembered he had been responsible for ripping the skin off his knuckles and returned it to his side, raising the other one to knock. As he did so, Brandon opened the door, grabbed him by his waistcoat and pulled him in, slamming the door shut behind him.    
“What the hell was that?!” The other boy forced him against the closed door, “a public shooting, really?!” It hurt to struggle, so Ivan didn't struggle against Brandon's iron fisted grip. He had clearly made a misjudgement on Brandon's softness.  
“She was going to compromise our position, publicly!” Ivan insisted. The gun was still in his hand, and was unintentionally pressed against Brandon's chest. He tried to pull it out, but stopped, not wanting to accidentally trigger the weapon.  
“Then you call her a liar!” Brandon retorted, either sensing that Ivan was trying to move the gun away or just becoming aware that is was there and pushing it away.  
“Call a trained nurse who has most definitely worked with maternity drugs a liar in front of a room of people that somehow knew her? We were the strangers there, just showing up out of the blue? We'd get arrested and searched anyway!” Ivan snapped, glaring firmly up into Brandon's eyes. He relaxed his grip, evidently accepting Ivan's reasoning.  
“You sound different.” He offered up as a reply.  
“I just killed someone.” Ivan reminded him, a little harsher than he had intended. Brandon let him go and turned away, fists clearly balled.  
“Brandon, see, I'm not crying. I've toughened up now. I understand the world, I understand why they're the bad people and killing them is necessary, important even. You see, because they come in pairs that need each other, we're better and more adapted!” Ivan called after him, unmoving from the wall, “evolution, you heard me talk about if with that van driver from Norfolk, they're afraid of what we can do, aren't they? They're the waste products! But we have everything we need!”  
“What?” Brandon turned around, face twisted in puzzlement. He sounded disbelieving.   
“I'll explain. Evolution, right? By those facts we ourselves should produce children without partners, we can't reverse revolve. Me, you, Cassia, well Cassia's a woman and men and women make children, so population isn't a problem.” Ivan stepped away from the door, gesturing with his hands as he tried to explain the concept.  
“Cassia isn't a sexual tool.” Brandon cut in, firmly.  
“No, I didn't mean it like that.” Ivan said hurriedly, “and you obviously would have no requirement to make children if that is not what you wanted to do, Cassia too, there has to be more females. But the point is, we can get a population going once we dispose of the old and the weak, because that's what they are, aren't they? We're the new human race, better, faster, stronger. We can reach the stars, meet aliens, like the Vulcans – you've seen Star Trek, I assume?”  
“Ivan, slow down, you're jumbling everything together.” Brandon frowned at him, “I'm not sure what you're trying to tell me.”  
“That we knock them all down, claim our Earth. We can do that, because we're better. That van driver, he may have given up, but I'm not, because I know it’s possible. We destroy them all, start again from scratch, our society, not this society. We won't condemn people for who they love or what they look like, because that's...that's just childish!” Ivan was on a roll now; words and more words came tumbling out of his mouth, years and years of hoarded thoughts spilling out all at once. He had never understood prejudices such as those cast against people were attracted to people of the same gender, or the demands on women to be as thin as a rake. For a moment, Ivan could have sworn he saw Brandon's eyes light up at the prospect, and a weak smile form.   
“And how are we supposed to start again? Obliterate human life and crawl up out of the dust to build some kind of new empire?” Brandon began to pick at the minor details he had excluded from of his argument, shaking his head back and forth, “Ivan, listen to me, we can't do that.”  
"Science, I studied Biology. I could engineer a pathogen to target the telepathic processes in the brain rip them apart, or trigger some sort of self-destruction that would shut down the brain, and then the world is ours." Ivan grinned. Brandon was looking at him as though he was completely mad, one of our species has to die, it's the only way, evolution would kill them slowly, so this is kinder."  
"You're not in your right mind. We're all human, Ivan." Brandon countered, brows deeply furrowed; he seemed like he had something else to add, but did not speak of it, instead softening his voice, to move to another pressing matter, "I had no idea you would react like this, I'm sorry."  
"React like what? I'm understanding and adapting to how I need to be! You want a world where everyone is accepted right? You, you smiled." Ivan tried. He sounded desperate, and reined his voice in, controlling the tone in which he spoke, "You smiled."  
"Of course I do, but..." He broke off, looking away, not at a particular spot, but at the blank wall, "...we can't."  
"Why? Because we might die? We're going to die anyway, with those plans they have to squash us – like we're ants. Let me tell you something about ants, ants can survive in all sorts of climates and situations, you could put an ant in a microwave for say, thirty seconds on full power and it wouldn't bother it," Ivan shrugged, "we obviously don't just use ourselves, we contact everyone, Nora, the van driver form Norfolk-"  
"Rudey Sodun." Brandon interjected.  
"-the people who do what we do in other countries, the network, or whatever they are. You can contact them, I know you can, you did all this." He waved his camera device in front of Brandon, who appeared doubtful, "we all work together for a common cause, strike hard and fast, loop the rope around their necks and tighten it before they realise we're even there, then let them hang, all of them.” He finished. Brandon hadn’t turned to look back at him, looking so deeply lost in conflicted thoughts that Ivan wondered if he had been listening to the second half of his speech after he had interrupted to give Ivan a name, “we can start now.” He reached for Brandon’s arm, intending to drag him over to his room, or more specifically his computer, but the boy pulled his arm away before Ivan could touch it.  
“Your hands are still shaking.” Brandon observed. Ivan bent his head down to look and found that they were, but it was barely noticeable to him. The gun was still there, his fingers wrapped so tightly around it, like vines around a tree, that he wasn’t sure if he could ever let go.  
“Doesn’t matter,” he dismissed, “where’s Cassia?” It had just dawned on him that the blonde girl wasn’t present. Initially he had thought she may have been in one of the other rooms, getting changed perhaps, but her bedroom door was open. He didn’t think Cassia would have been in the kitchen or bathroom all this time while the pair of them had been arguing, if you could call their exchange of words that, since Ivan had done most of the talking whilst Brandon had provided his responses with a barely changing facial expression; Cassia was the type to intervene and set all the cards on the table.  
“Her connection’s gone dead.” Brandon responded blankly, “I do not know where she is.” Ivan closed his fingers around his phone, which was sitting inside his trouser pocket. He pulled it free and woke up the screen, selecting the call button; Brandon stepped up to him and slid his hand over the screen, covering it and blocking his view of the correct number he needed to call, although he probably could have made an accurate guess without being able to see. When he looked up, Brandon was shaking his head, “she may have been captured. Most likely, from the last thing I saw and heard on her line.”  
“Cassia, no, she’s fast.” Ivan began to shake his head too, mimicking Brandon, who stopped once Ivan began.  
“Fast, but not invincible. We’re all made of flesh and blood, us, the people born with partners that society calls normal. That telepathic emotional link has some benefits, and sometimes, we are going to fall, like you said, some of us die, even doing this.” Brandon took off his glasses, “without these, my vision is limited. Someone removes my glasses; the playing field is even again. You took her most prized possession.” Ivan spared a glance at the pistol, Brandon nodded.  
“We’re not going to leave her, are we?” His voice lowered to an almost whisper, “in the hands of, of them. They’ll kill her.”  
“They’ll do worse.” Brandon disagreed. He replaced his glasses, which sat snugly on his nose. Ivan did not need him to define what he meant by worse. A shiver ran through his body.  
“This is why we have to get her!” Ivan waved the gun in the air, “I am not going to leave her to them. She has done nothing to deserve that, nothing.”  
“We don’t know where she is if they’ve arrested her.” Brandon pointed out, seemingly struggling to maintain his neutrality, “my best guess would be the main London police station, but even then, we can’t just walk in with a gun and demand they hand her over. Or run in with a gun for that matter, I’m not quite sure how you got out of the hotel out gunned to be honest – hostage?” Ivan nodded, “you can’t play that card twice, not on one night.”   
“We sneak in, and then kill them all.” Ivan concluded, “walk in as guests, then pull out the gun and shoot them all down.”  
“Do you not think they check every person who walks into any police station for weapons?” Brandon looked incredulous, “we can’t do anything at this moment in time, we don’t have the resources to attack the highest level of security and have all three of us walk away unscathed.”  
“But, but we can’t leave her.” It was Ivan’s turn to frown deeply. He could feel his eyebrows bending inwards in emotional strain. Cassia, as much as her outer shell was made of a cold professionalism, had a warm core, as equally as elegant as she was in appearance, if not better as it was littered with humour, humour concerning frogs. He had wanted to buy Cassia a frog for her birthday, whenever that was, “I've known her three days and I seem to care more than you!” Wrong move. Ivan clamped his mouth shut as soon as he had said it, backing away as Brandon's face twitched with obvious anger at the accusation.   
“I have known Cassia for sixteen years.” Brandon spat, voice coated in venom. He followed him as Ivan moved away, and Ivan found himself back up against the door, “sure, I was born without a partner, but she is like that to me. I know every inch of her, I understand the mechanics of her brain, and she understands me. We grew together, learned together and countless times she has saved my skin. I would kill any person who dared to lay a hand on her. She may know more ways to kill a man but I know enough effective ones to serve my purpose.” The height difference contributed to the feeling of intimation Ivan was feeling. He gulped, “you should be grateful I'm not demanding you go out there and most likely throw away your life at a fruitless attempt to break her out from behind bars. Which I would do, if I didn't have any respect for you. But I do, don't ask me why. We're in together now, Ivan. We let you into our lives, and we, we are a three. It is our duty to protect each other, yes, and I will not let anything happen to Cassia.”  
“Then why aren't we doing anything?” Ivan dared to challenge, “I know it seems rather daft that after this short length of time I feel that I know you two and I want to stay with you two and I want to make the world a better place for you, because I owe you my live, a thousand times over, and if Cassia dies, that's down to me. I'm going to do something.” His free hand, the one with the damaged knuckles brushed against the door handle, and he winced as he grasped it.  
“In this state?” Brandon questioned, spoke in a tone that suggested it was rhetorical, “you'll get me killed.”  
“So this is about you now?” Ivan turned down the handle.  
“Fine, both of us killed.” Brandon rephrased. Ivan starred at him, eyes narrowing, “I would stand a better chance without your help. Hand off the door.” Ivan didn't remove his hand. Brandon made a grab at it and he side stepped away, leaving the boy to bounce against the door. Both of their hands were on the handle now, but if opened, Ivan would be guaranteed to get out first. He tugged down quickly and sharply, and the door opened by a fractional amount. He removed his hand and pushed it through the gap, ready to force his way out; the door slammed on his arm, forcing the gun from his hand, which dropped heavily on the carpet of the corridor; a shocked cry escaped from his mouth. Brandon was glowering at him, “move.”  
“You want me to sit here while you risk your life?” Ivan hissed, trying and failing to pull his arm free. He looked up at Brandon with the best determination that he could muster, showing he had no intention of stepping down. Brandon's expression mirrored his own, and for what seemed like an eternity the pair of them stood, stubborn in their intentions, until the pressure fell away from his arm and Ivan was able to reclaim his body part; what he didn't expect was for a fist to come flying at his face, cracking him squarely round the jaw and knocking him straight down for the floor to swallow.


	11. Chapter Ten

The door clicked shut, leaving Ivan stunned and alone on the warm carpet. His jaw felt slightly out of place, but he wasn't sure if that was just the sensation of the pain that radiated from that area of his face. He pulled himself up; disorientated, he staggered into the side of his sofa. Angry he was in Brandon's treatment of him, but he wasn't about to leave the boy alone on his quest, he would deal with him later, in a civil manner. He sucked in air greedily, body a wreck. He needed to move now if he was to be of any use, and it didn't seem like Brandon had locked the door, which suggested his intentions had been to render him unconscious. Ivan was glad he had failed. Pushing himself away from the sofa, he made his move for the door, pulling it open and himself through the doorway before he pulled it behind him. He would have to run to catch up now, provided Brandon had actually gone to the police station; he wasn't even sure he would want to catch up to Brandon, considering his current mood, until action was needed. He reached the bottom of the stairs with some difficulty, re-emerging into the night and making a guess of left. This was seemingly impossible as a task, given that Brandon had gained at least two minutes of a head start, and could have ran, but instead, he found him leaning against a wall, phone pressed against his ear, and other hand lost in his hair, he wasn't speaking, but listening; Ivan retreated, not wanting to be seen.  
“What I mean is, I might not be able to come and see you for a few nights.” Brandon spoke, voice trembling slightly, “I've said too much.” There was a pause while the person on the other end responded, “Of course I will.” Another pause, “I know.” Ivan peered round the side of the wall, Brandon had his head bent downwards, “yes things are changing, I think they will get considerably harder but, but you are a constant.” His lips curled into a weak smile, “if I'm honest, yes you are an inconvenience. But I wouldn't have it any other way. I'll keep in contact, don't worry about me.” Ivan suspected that Brandon was speaking to the contact named 'x', who was clearly important to him, “the feeling is mutual.” He gave one final response, removing the phone from his ear. Brandon was indeed talking to someone outside their little group of three, but Ivan didn't feel troubled, outside contacts were necessary, after all. Brandon looked around; Ivan returned to his safety. He gave it twenty seconds before he peered back around the bend – Brandon was walking away, sliding his phone into one of the pockets of his pale denim jeans; the gun was partly visible in the other, a line of black appearing as he bobbed up and down during his walk cycle, the bottom of his jumper covering the bulk of the weapon. Ivan was still in his waistcoat. Following at a slow pace, Ivan made sure to keep a distance to avoid making his presence known; the one time Brandon thought to look behind him, irritation still present, Ivan was able to press himself against the wall and let darkness be his shield – Brandon's poor eyesight now an advantage he could exploit. By the end of the straight section of the road, he was regretting his own decision to follow in body, but in mind, he pushed himself onwards. The cool night breeze lashed at his jaw, so he moved to cover it, tenderly feeling around the area of the strike and determined easily that it wasn't broken, cracked most likely with a brightly coloured bruise soon to blossom. His knuckles were likely to go the same way too, as the join itself was becoming stiff and awkward; attacking that wall had been a foolish manoeuvre on his part.   
The journey continued, Brandon picked up his pace at a set of traffic lights and forcing Ivan to change his own walking speed in order to keep the distance the same. The earlier sirens had silenced, and the streets were mostly quiet, apart from a drunken couple Ivan had to elbow out of the way when they approached him, laughing. A couple of days ago he would have politely asked them to excuse him, and then shuffled past, but the score had changed now, and they didn't seem to notice their rough treatment, simply continuing to stagger down the road, using each other to avoid tumbling to the ground. Ivan left them to it, focused solely on Brandon's movement, and eventual stop outside the illuminated sign of a police station, most likely the main one that he had earlier referred to; Ivan tucked himself behind a lamp post as the tall boy smoothed out his clothes, pulling down his jumper to fully cover the gun, and climbed the small set of steps to the double door, pushing one of them open and stepping inside, disappearing from view. Slowly, Ivan crept forwards, peering through the window. There was a guard on the door, but Brandon was far ahead up the corridor, obviously having no trouble getting in without the use of a weapon, which Ivan didn't have. The guard noticed him looking, so with little choice, he opened the door and stepped inside.  
“Your business here, sir?” The guard asked him immediately.  
“I'm with him.” Ivan pointed down the corridor at the gradually shrinking figure of Brandon. The guard nodded and let him pass without any additional questions, and with this ease of access, he wondered what lie Brandon had created to allow himself entry to this well-guarded place. He started after Brandon, placing his feet lightly as he walked to create the lightest footfalls possible against the floor; the noise that he failed to prevent was drowned out by Brandon's own movement, as he seemed completely uncaring about the noise he made as he traversed the long blue painted corridors littered with a variety of rooms. Ivan read the signs on a few of them – interview rooms, offices for officers, a changing room, and then a set of stairs down to the temporary cells. The stairs were thick marble blocks, a pretty contrast to the dull walls. Brandon had taken them at a walk, moving forwards one step at a time, but when Ivan took them, he descended at a slow jog, then had to cut his speed instantly and pull himself back round to the final couple of steps to avoid being seen as Brandon hesitated, looking over his shoulder. He counted out ten seconds in his head, mentally sounding out every number, and then repeated what had had previously done last time he was forced to take this action by peering round the bend to observe. Brandon was still paused where he had stopped, fidgeting uncomfortably. A light switched on, and both of them jumped, Ivan almost fully pulling himself back into hiding until he noticed a woman emerge from the other end of the narrow passage, narrow faced and pale brown haired, she approached, heels clacking loudly against the floor. As she approached, Ivan observed she was almost equal to Brandon in height, but some of that was down to her shoes, minus those and she was smaller, but still taller than himself. She stopped in front of Brandon as he swung around to face her.  
“Time waits for no man.” The woman said coolly. She was stern in her facial expression, holding a thick booklet of paper against her chest, “but I suppose you're not an ordinary man.”  
“Ms Halversen.” Brandon dipped his head.  
“I never expected to have to visit this place.” Ms Halversen, as the woman was named, altered the position of her pale blue triangular glasses, “I would advise you to be more careful, we can't cover all your mishaps.”   
“Where is she?” Brandon demanded.   
“Watch your tongue.” Ms Halversen responded sharply. Brandon visibly recoiled. She flattered the paperwork out in front of her, resting it on one palm, and flipping it open to the first page. Brandon curled his neck to read off the sheet, and as he did, she struck him with her open palm. Ivan winced as the hand made contact, his own jaw twinging; it hadn't been an overly aggressive slap, but he had still heard it – Brandon retreated, seemingly a shadow of his usual self, clearly much lower in place to this woman. Was this why Brandon had forbidden him to attend, for his own honour? Somehow, Ivan doubted it. This Ms Halversen seemed to have some control over the police – she couldn't be a bad contact to have – was she the boss of what their whole operation was about? That made sense for his lack of introduction if Brandon hadn't informed her of his involvement, or if he had to prove something to see her; but even so, why the need to physically hit him, that was what Ivan failed to understand, he would have understood if Brandon had explained the situation rather than insulting his competence, “they were going to kill her, to give the public some good news, but I requested that they did not. You're new recruit is not fully trained to cover her, is he not?” She brushed her long fringe out of her glasses. She was referring to Ivan – his chest tightened.  
“No, he's...it's the mentality.” Brandon shook his head, agreeing with the statement given. Ivan felt his heart drop as Brandon confirmed his accusation on Ivan's messed up state of mind. Change, it was change, he wanted to say – the cold edge would come later, and then he would just be like Cassia and Brandon, as required.   
“Then next time we get a clear shot on that boy, we'll shoot him in the head. Unless you think he will have any preferences, assuming the likes of you understand the concept of emotion,” Ms Halversen sighed. Ivan felt his own eyes widen. He didn't understand. Brandon didn't look happy with that statement, which was some consolidation. Ms Halversen flipped another page, paying no attention to him, “your girl, she was shot in the foot. They roughed her up a bit but your medical training she be enough to have her on her feet with a week, maximum. Of course you will need to cover her duties if the new boy cannot cope.”  
“I-I see.” Brandon nodded slowly, “ma'am.” He added when she frowned up at him.  
“You're on a limited time scale. I want you to step up the operation for the next weeks, ensure that the drugs are fully pumped around the country to prevent any more of you sub-humans being born.” She instructed him, moving her head from side to side as she scan read the sheet in front of her.  
“Yes ma'am.” Brandon's tone was dead. Ivan found himself gripping the corner of the wall tighter and tighter with his uninjured hand, knuckles paling. Eliana was right, but he had dismissed her as a liar. Brandon and Cassia had lied to him, whom he had given a hundred percent of his trust after only knowing them for three single days. He felt betrayed, yet he didn't understand; how were they working for demons? It was like an icicle through his heart, Cassia and Brandon had been the only two people left in his life that he thought he would be able to change the world with, and now he found out that they were not even his friends, but abusers of his position; foes over friends. Hope was destroyed. He couldn't feel angry, just crushed. He'd missed all the signs, and he hated himself for it.  
“That girl the new boy killed.” Ms Halversen began a new line of conversation, “that was unnecessary. That girl was an innocent. I have no idea what her part was in your schemes, must I repeat to you that you are not to use the general population to your assistance?” She chided, “I'm offering you advice here, make it easy for yourself and control this new boy through a punishment and rewards system.” She reached down for his left hand, and picked it up, “swinging ones fist is simple. You do remember your combat training I would assume?” Brandon nodded, “then use it.” He pulled her own hand away, letting Brandon's drop heavily against his side. That hand had already used Ms Halversen's advice this night; Ivan felt disgusted that Brandon answered to her. The pain sunk in deeper, and had no choice but to run, abandoning Brandon and Ms Halversen, uncaring to whether they heard. He slipped on one of the marble steps when his ankle twisted, but refused to go down, only slipping to the floor when he heard the woman speak again, “we made a deal with your new boy's mother that we would keep him alive when we discovered his existence as a small boy. After all those years they had to prepare him, you would have thought they would have done a better job.” He felt his blood run cold. His whole life had been set up? That wasn't fair, this whole situation wasn't fair.   
“I thought that.” Brandon murmured, so quietly that Ivan struggled to hear it. He couldn't take it, standing; he tore away and through the police station, forcing his way through the doors before the guard could move a single muscle to even attempt to stop him. Home seemed to be an eternity away, if he could call it that, but when he eventually reached it, several stops required to suck in air, his body was begging for rest; he threw himself on his temporary bed, curling up his fists and screaming at the ceiling until his lungs were raw, and then lay lifelessly, everything he was shredded. They had been his friends – he didn't feel like he knew himself, much like he didn't know the people who owned this flat. He had been used, talents abused. Everything he had believed in was what he had been working against, merging is what had had prevented, not ensured – Rudey, the van driver had almost revealed that, but he had refused to listen to the hints. He had been so naïve; foolish to believe that he had been simply been rescued by luck by people who could change the world – rather, they had just known what buttons to press. For years, his the people who were supposedly his family, had known this was his fate, to live and die as a government lackey, yet they brought him up as if he was meant for something greater. He had disowned that family, when he had thrown his pocket watch into the fray; only the coat remained now – the sunflower scarf was in the washing machine, he had no plans to wait for the whirring of the washing machine to halt and then dry it before he left, because he couldn't stay here, not now.  It was the best he could do in rebellion alone, as a broken boy, simply refusing to be a pawn in the game that was being played. He sat up; Ivan had no tears, they had all been wasted. Claiming his coat from the back of the sofa, he slipped it on, the kitchen door was open, and he approached it, ripping open the first cupboard and tearing out the contents and scattering them about the floor, and then the fridge, the image of milk splattering all over the laminate flooring somehow satisfying. When that was done, he retrieved his phone, composed a message simply starting that he knew the truth and sent it to Brandon, waiting for the sent message notification before he slammed it against the handle of the cupboard he had opened, cracking the screen, which clearly wasn't enough to break it, so he dropped it on the floor, and jumped on it, the action wasting a lot of precious energy; he had to sit down for a minute then, knees tucked into his chest. He had nothing left, nothing to live for. He hated them all, the humans born with partners and those without, too weak to rebel, and himself, himself more than any, because who was he now? Ivan as he knew himself was a dead soul. He rested his head against his knees, thought processes scrambled once more and losing the ability to function just as he had recovered them. It all made sense now, the government, using the merged people to tell society it was terrorism that created partnerless children, when it was indeed evolution, and then creating drugs that, for now, suppressed evolution to keep their perfect world; and Brandon, Cassia, Nora, Rudey, that had all conformed to this, taking orders to deliver these drugs for the payment of their lives – money of course too, but for life. Ivan did not see the point in living if he lived on the risk of termination for his task being complete. As a child, he had wanted to make the whole world happy, but how could the world be happy until the plague to partnered humans were gone? That wasn't going to happen any time soon, his speech had fallen on deaf ears. Ivan was defeated. Sometime later, he picked himself up from the floor, downed in milk, and left the building, intention to never return.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Curled up in his coat, Ivan found that the pavement was just as hard as the last time his head had been rested upon it. For the first day, he had sat up with his back against the brickwork, watching as strangers passed, going about their daily lives as normal; how Ivan envied them, plagued only with minor problems that they could easily correct, or only concerned about missing the bus. He had settled himself quite a distance from the flat, bundling himself up on a quiet street and refusing to move. It wasn't long before his bell growled and his throat was dry, but he did not do what his body wanted; he had his money, but it would soon run dry. He saw no point in prolonging his suffering. He had considered finding a way to end it sooner, but found he didn't have the energy to move, or if he did, he was unwilling to do so, for a tiny fragment of his mind was clinging onto some sort of false hope that this was some kind of nightmare that would correct itself if left alone. On the second morning, when he had sunk to the ground, he found that hope, in the form of a pair of small children approaching and poking him awake. Blonde and bright eyed, the girls, who couldn't have been much older than four or five, questioned him to what he was doing laying on the street. Ivan had initially ignored them, because of who they were, but one of the girls had stroked his hair and told him that it would all get better, and then the second added that she was sad to see him sad. Innocent children, naïve as he had been to the world, had hugged him, filling Ivan with a sense of warmth, and then regret. Children, he could not condemn children to die – and then the mother had tucked some money under his coat and told him to buy himself a decent meal with it, because nobody, no matter who they were, deserved to suffer like this. Did that apply to those whom society thought as inferior? Along with the partnerless humans, society had little respect of people with different sexual orientations and skin colours, or so he had thought once. He had learnt, even when confined to his first home,  that most of society cared little for differences in appearance and sexuality, and it was world leaders who spoke against it, creating an assumption the whole world was prejudiced. Ivan had failed to see that pattern. She had left, but more people stopped by, an elderly man offered him a bottle of orange juice, which he had accepted and drank greedily, thanking the man with the biggest smile he could muster; somehow the kindness of strangers changing his vision on his purpose on the streets., four people in total and he could feel his passion for life slowly creeping back, dominating the hatred and crushing it how it had crushed him. By then, the early evening of that day, Ivan was firm in the knowledge that he had been wrong. In his own madness, he had condemned the whole of society for who they were, making him just as bad as the villains of his journey, who he concluded was the world governments, for setting these demands on society, which for perhaps he was wrong, seemed to be kinder than what Alyssia Woods had said in her final moments. Some of the world may want perfection, but like all things, time was what changed feeling on aspects of life; if not so, humankind would still be in caves, hitting each other with clubs because they could not accept new ideas to modernise their way of life. Those little girls had renewed his hope, thrown away the burning desire to remove something that was not a stain but an important colour on a painting of the world. Society was not to be reached up and taken, but to be shared; that was humans who thrive, like every other animal, unbound by the chains of the laws of the greedy. His vision grew, planting itself in the roots of his brain, his perfect world. He smiled through cracked lips. The sky began to look pretty again, cotton candy clouds against a brilliant blue, until he remembered why he was here. The third time he was acknowledged was by a young couple walking arm in arm, smiling and almost completely immersed in each other, until the lady halted. The man had then produced a twenty pound note and gave it to him, telling him to get himself off the street for the night because he heard there was a storm coming. He couldn't, and as the sky darkened grey, so did his growing positive vision. It began to rain; the man had been right, there was a storm coming. He could not give him the strength to get up. His legs had gone weak and his head was heavy; he needed to repair, rebuild the fragments of his brain that had ripped themselves apart the day he had committed murder. It was true, he had lost sense of himself, but in that madness, he had learnt a truth, the one that kept his head firmly on the ground. As much as the vision of utopia grew, the sense of treachery that clung to his mind prevented it from blooming. It would be him against the world, and the harsh truth of it was, as Rudey had said, he wouldn't stand a chance. He didn't have the people he had believed in any more, as they had proved themselves to be working for the other side, he wondered if they had much choice, or if they had been forced into it against their own will, which Brandon's reactions to Ms Halversen suggested, along with Rudey's general attitude. For a moment, he almost felt sorry for them, but he reminded himself that they must have had a choice, that or death, but working against who you were certainly not worth living for. And they had lied.   
He didn't want to stay bound to this street, strength continuing to deplete until life left him, he wanted to live, but his head throbbed, and his knuckles had turned yellow. Once, he tried to stand, but only managed to sit, and then after a short length of him he discovered he was horizontal again, which was when a clap of thunder echoed overhead, the rain pounding his body – that just made him shiver. It was as the storm died that he got his forth visitor, equally as drenched. His hair was plastered to his head and neck, and Ivan couldn't possibly imagine how the boy would have any vision out of those glasses. He wanted to roll over and block this visitor from his view, but his body didn't respond to his brain's request.  
“You look awful.” Brandon breathed, crouching down by his side. Ivan kept his eyes fixed on his feet, showing his lack of interest, “I know you're upset. I would be.” He didn't seem quite sure on what to say, “the truth is, I am uncomfortable with everything. And by that, I mean me, me and Cassia, we were raised to do this but then you came along.”  
“G-go away.” Ivan croaked.  
“Unlike you, I was taken away as a child. From birth they had me trained to do this very job. The one mistake they made was they paid an elderly couple to look after me when the government workers went home every night, as through those two people, I learnt emotions.” Brandon dived straight into a speech, ignoring Ivan, “but what I was thought still remained, I was the government's toy, to be played with and discarded as they saw fit. I thought nothing of what I did, thinking it was the best for everyone, until the instruction came along to collect and train you. I don't know how, but you somehow accessed those emotions that I have, a thing that only two other individuals have done, and I began to doubt. You know one of those people.” He believed he knew two, one being Cassia and the other the individual denoted as 'x' on Brandon's phone, although he did not know him or her personally, he counted that a being aware of their existence. Ivan looked up at him. One side of Brandon's face was fully bruised, which could not have been the aftermath of Ms Halversen's strike, and his ear, part of it visible from between his hair, was crusted and bloody, “When you shouted at me, as much as I will still say you were not of sound mind, it got to me, because I understood that I was wrong. I didn't want you to see what I had to do, but you wouldn't listen to me. I had planned to collect Cassia, as I had agreed, and then I was going to sit you down, and talk to you. I wasn't sure how I was going to work around it because I was scared. I've never been in control of my life, yet that is what you were asking of me. But you were gone, and I had to mend the marks they left on Cassia, because she is one that I am emotionally bonded with, and do the work necessary so I had time to think and calculate what move I could possibly make. These past two evenings I have spent searching for you Ivan, please don't turn me away.” Brandon's eyebrows had bent slightly. The boy seemed to be more in touch with his emotions now than he had been before, much of it pouring out with his voice. He hoped this wasn't some kind of manipulation technique, which it either was of Brandon truly opening up to him after closing the bulk of his emotions off previously, perhaps because of the way he was raised, if it was true. He noticed that he had replaced his blue framed glasses with simpler brown framed ones, and similarly had donned a brown jumper over one of his blue coloured ones. He wasn't sure what it meant, but he took it as meaning something.  
“I don't understand.” Ivan managed, Brandon's change in appearance and what the boy was saying quite overwhelming.   
“I don't think you can possibly imagine yourself in my shoes.” Brandon sighed, brushing a wet strand of hair behind his ear. Ivan attempted to imagine himself wearing Brandon's blue converse, and failed, this being because Brandon was wearing burgundy leather boots rather than his usual footwear, which did happen to give him a marginally better fashion sense, “up until now, I have known nothing but what I have been told to do. Think of it, Ivan, I did not know that what I was doing was preventing, preventing evolution, as you put it.”  
“Working against your own people.” Ivan had wanted to put together a sentence that made some sense, but that was the only set of words that came out of his mouth. Brandon seemed to understand; he looked down at his feet.  
“I thought I was something that equated to the dirt that people trod in.” Brandon spoke, voice wavering before his lips broke into a smile, “I never thought I was anything special,” he tilted his head back upwards to a position that held eye contact with Ivan, “thank you for that.”  
“Why serve?” Ivan questioned. He was beginning to feel some kind of sympathy, but was unsure whether it was misplaced.   
“I thought I could make the world a better place.” Brandon admitted, “foolish child’s dream.”  
“Not foolish.” Ivan said quickly, and attempted to force himself into a sitting position; it took great effort, even when Brandon reached out to help, and supported him there. He didn't feel as uncomfortable as he thought he should have been to Brandon's touch. He was beginning to forgive; he had always been a soft touch, quick to forgive his sisters when they had stolen his favourite toy, but this was different, he had felt though he had had nothing left – could that be so easily forgiven? He didn't think so. He tried to gather some negative thoughts, reminding himself that he had been lied to and used. There had been many chances for Cassia and Brandon to inform him of what he had really been doing, but they did not – but that was not lying, just not outing the truth; yet Cassia had drawn him in by informing him that they were committing their own act of rebellion, he supposed that was a lie, “but you used me.”  
“Used by the used.” Brandon mumbled, “you were a special case.”  
“That doesn't make remove any, any of my rights!” Ivan pulled away from Brandon's support, just to fall back into it.  
“You don't have any rights. I don't have any rights.” Brandon put in, “not as they see it. Then I was following orders, a little puppet doing what the puppeteers commanded. We took you in mature, we had to lie.”  
“When did those strings break then?” Ivan demanded. It was still raining lightly, heavy spots bouncing off the pavement; Ivan watched them.  
“I am severing them now. When I was commissioned-”  
“You're not an object, you weren't commissioned.” Ivan interrupted.  
“-I was given the colour blue. Blue for Brandon. Crimson for Cassia. I took it literally and made it my dress code.” Brandon continued, “I am now brown.” It was significant then.   
“So, so you're changing colour to get me back?” Ivan tried to play it hard, although in his heart he was leaning strongly towards forgiveness. That and warmth.  
“I thought it would show my worth. I had two options after you began to tangle those strings, cut them off of untangle them.” Brandon explained, “they put a hole in Cassia's foot.” Ivan did recall that the boy had warned there would be serious consequences for harming his technically adopted sister.  
“I was going to die he-” Ivan started, but broke off into a fit of coughing. He wanted Brandon to know the situation before he could begin to condone forgiving him. Maybe smashing a likely expensive phone and half of the kitchen made things even.  
“Why I came looking for you straight away with so much on my mind. I'm sorry I took so long.” Brandon dismissed it like it was nothing. He supposed for a boy brought up to understand death would be stalking him like his own shadow; the concept of eternal blackness was not as daunting.  
“Did Ms Halversen do that to your face?” Ivan pressed, gaze shifting from the pavement as he recovered from his coughing fit. Speaking was coming more naturally, even though his throat was still as dry as sandpaper.   
“Not personally.” Brandon's head dropped again. It was abuse, Ivan registered that. This was who they were, created like robots to serve, abused by their masters when they began to fall away from their originally programming, all because Ivan had been tampering. In his lack of full knowledge of all truths, Ivan had just been as bad. Of course he hadn't known his influence would cause this. Part of him was glad this had happened, for both parties to consolidate and the full facts spread out on the metaphorical table; it would have been easier if he had confronted Brandon when he had returned, rather than running like a coward.   
“How is Cassia?” Ivan suddenly asked. The blonde girl had been on his mind a lot. He pissed the warmth under her icy layers.  
“She'll be fine. I had her confined to her room yesterday and she was asking for you. Your big display back at the hotel stopped a bullet going through her head.” Brandon answered, “if you believe that you owe us your life, that debt has now been paid.”  
“I thought I had been responsible for her death.” Ivan murmured, “initially, when I was still inside that hotel.  My mind wasn't functioning the highest standard.” He coughed again.  
“But are you functioning in thought now, that is the question.” Brandon's concern grew choosing to adopt his word choice, “as much as your words got to me, you sounded like mad man. You wanted to kill everyone – I don't want to do that.”  
“I was wrong.” Ivan nodded, “I had just killed a girl, someone I don't know, sort of developed some sort of immature crush on after kissing her.” It felt better to release those words, “she wanted some kind of perfection, and I took that as the word of all. But I was wrong, the people on these streets have been kind, they didn't even know who I was.”  
“I'm glad.” Brandon nodded with the smallest of smiles, “am I forgiven for abusing my position?”  
“I don't know.” Ivan realised he was beginning to shake. Every instinct was telling him yes, but that small dark fragment of his mind that had been responsible for his overwhelming desire to kill begged him to refuse to resume his partnership, “can you promise me that we're going to stop this?”  
“I don't know what we're going to do.” Brandon pulled him in, “you're freezing, please let me help you so you can help us.”  
“Help you?” Ivan looked up at him, uncertain. He was getting tired, the strain of talking eating at the little strength he had left.  
“We need your help to free ourselves from the puppet strings. We've been clutching onto them for that long that we don't know how to break them.” Brandon lowered his voice, “I'm being brave, doing this. They'll hurt me if they catch me. But you said we're all going to die in the end, right?” Ivan smiled and Brandon returned it, until the coughing began again. Brandon bundled him up, the height advantage working in his favour and scooped him up from the ground, holding him as Ivan lay limply like a broken doll, coughs racking through him painfully. The sky began to darken above; a raindrop splatted onto his face, mixing into the growing facial hair, the plop of it the only sensation Ivan could feel as it began to fall heavily again, a distant clap of thunder echoing as the storm began to make its return. And then it stopped. The only thing he was aware of then was his ill-timed breathing, struggling to fight against the ferocious coughs that attacked his airway. He wasn't sure if he could feel some liquid in his mouth, or it if was just the rain, but the last thing he was aware of was Brandon cursing and demanding he stay awake.


	13. Chapter Twelve

He could feel something tightening around his hand, digging into the skin and cutting off the elements in the air from contact with that skin.  
“Wwrrrrraah.” He made a noise to ward off the attacker while he pulled his consciousness together, cracking open his eyes and then promptly shutting them again, leaving a few seconds before he fully exposed his pupils to the new level of lighting. The next thing he was aware of was being guided into a sitting position so that a bottle of water could be poured into his mouth. The sensation of cold water running down his throat was heavenly; he sucked every water droplet out of the bottle, he had never been so thirsty in his life.  
“Good morning.” Brandon began, “good timing on your part. I need to go out shortly and I feel like I should discuss the situation.”  
“G-” Ivan began to return the greeting, but struggled to form the words and had to clear his throat, “good morning.”  
“Stay in bed for the day.” Brandon chose the carry on the conversation by giving a clear instruction, “your airway became obstructed last night while you were coughing and you technically died for seven seconds. Cassia will spend the day with you.”  
“I, what?” Ivan dragged himself into a sitting position, his movement slow and awkward. He realised then that he was not on the place that he had used as a bed during his previous stay, but a bed, large enough to roll over more than once without tumbling to the floor; not that he intended to roll. Judging by the computer in the corner of his eye, this was Brandon's room.  
“Technically died and died are two different things.” Brandon patted the covers where Ivan's legs were, “I'm more concerned about the bacterial infection and the dehydration.”  
“I don't have a brilliant immune system.” Ivan agreed, he was feeling very groggy, but that could be put down to the long sleep, which he assumed was not a full day and this was the morning after the night before in the storm, “obviously as I had limited exposure to pathogens, only what was brought in by the people I lived with, my family,” he paused, unsure whether he wanted to use that term for the group of beings he had once lived with, “if they were contagious and I managed to catch a simple sickness bug, my body would react much more severely then they had. If my upbringing had been different, perhaps my immune system would be of a better quality.” His throat was beginning to dry up again, “can I have some more water?”  
“Not too much in one go.” Brandon shook his head.  
“I know, little and often to ensure rehydration.” Ivan put in before the other boy could tell him, “but it would be useful if I had some water by my side, as you gave me strict instruction not to leave your bed. Sorry for depriving you of that, by the way.” Brandon responded in a slow nod, likely a referral to the first point; he did not reply to the second, but turned to fulfil Ivan's request. He passed Cassia at the door, who wobbled in on one leg supported by a thin wooden stick; she smiled at him before turning her focus to the chair in front of the computer desk, which was upon wheels – she sat on it and propelled it towards him at such a high speed that Ivan forgot to breathe, before her hand shot out and stopped it dead at the side of the bed, the recoil bouncing her lightly in the air.  
“Sorry, Ivan.” Cassia apologised.  
“Apology accepted.” Ivan returned, letting out the breath he had been holding.  
“Oh no, not for this,” Cassia indicated to the chair, “it'd do it again, a hundred times over. I mean for lying to you.”  
“Oh.” The word formed before Ivan could think of what to say, tone dulled, “Brandon explained, you were puppets.”  
“We also desired some change to our routine lives. Not consciously, but we did. That was selfish.” Cassia admitted, frowning. Strands of hair were erupting from her plait, and the band that held it in place was barely hanging on; like her hair, the girl looked worn, quite possibly a mirror image of himself.  
“Killing Alyssia Woods was selfish on my part.” Ivan said in her defence, “if I really thought about it, I'm sure there would have been another way. I put you in danger.” He was beginning to feel increasingly guilty about his own actions now he had forgiven the actions of his reinstated friends; somehow his crimes felt bigger when he evaluated the bigger picture.  
“She kissed you and clearly enjoyed what she got and then devalued you because of what you were. That intimate moment within itself that she shared with you gave her no clues to what you were. Turning the tables on something because of one minor flaw, flaw in their eyes, makes them a bad person. Nobody is perfect. I heard that kissing someone is something you don't forget, like you love that person forever in a certain way so I would have shot her for doing that to me and then casting me away.” Cassia shrugged.  
“No, that's not true. You don't have to love to kiss or want to love. It's about pleasure.” Denying he hadn't wanted something more from Alyssia was a false truth, but speaking generally what he said was a real truth, from what he knew – loving someone from kissing them once during a first encounter was a ridiculous situation, “kissing releases chemicals in your brain, you probably know that, like most intimate actions, but its is pleasure they cause, not love. Love, love is more emotional.” Cassia nodded to show her understanding, setting her stick to rest against the side of the bed before she placed her hands in her lap.   
“I should have known.” She seemed disappointed with herself.  
“You haven't kissed anyone.” Ivan spoke in her defence once more, “you wouldn't really know the feeling.” He was a fine one to talk; Alyssia had been his first kiss, he was no expert. The media wasn't likely to be a hundred percent accurate on this matter, which was his experience – they had stories about a single kiss or meeting creating a love story, like Romeo and Juliet; which did involve teenagers, both of them and several others getting killed and a very short relationship. He almost snorted at the similarities, although he was sure Alyssia had been a couple of years his senior as she must have been to university to study nursing to be working in a hospital – nursing was a three or four year course, that information being lodged into his brain somehow over the years, perhaps during his ambition to be a doctor.   
Brandon, still wearing his colour scheme of brown, entered with several glasses of water, setting them down on the bedside table for ease of access. There were five, tall and full almost to the rim – if Brandon hadn't split any water crossing the main room Ivan would be impressed. Brandon turned to leave as soon as he had arrived.  
“What are you going to do?” Ivan asked, picking up one of the glasses and taking a sip.  
“What I have to do.” Brandon stopped in the doorway, resting his hand on the wooden door frame, “they'll have a close eye on my actions and until we have some kind of a plan I'm not risking setting off suspicions,” he explained, not bothering to turn round to look at them, “you heard what the lady said, Ivan, you'll get a bullet through your skull for our next mistake.”  
“Do they know where we live?” Ivan shrivelled back into the warm blankets.  
“No.” Brandon shook his head, “I don't think it would take them long to find out if they wanted to know.” He hesitated for a second more and then left; a soon as he shut the apartment door his camera view popped up on the computer screen, in Cassia's corner. Ivan wasn't sure what Brandon did normally when he did his usual job where they were now, but he assumed Cassia would know the basics. She did not watch the screen as he did though, but watched him.  
“So the next man I see, should I kiss him to see what it feels like?” Cassia asked, “as long as it isn't Nora, he'd probably take it too far.” Her face screwed up in contempt as she spoke his name, “i don't want to be the odd one out.”  
“Hair prostitution.” Ivan recalled. Cassia raised an eyebrow.   
“Or do I wait for the other person to kiss me?” Cassia continued with her line of questioning. Ivan wondered if Brandon could hear their conversation from where the computer was on the other side of the room – the speakers had to be good to pick up the sound of chewing, unless Brandon chewed loudly, but Ivan doubted he sat on his bed while guiding them through the streets of London.  
“It depends on the situation. I'm not sure.” Ivan thought about her second question and concluded there was no solid conclusion, “it usually doesn't matter unless they make it clear that isn't what they want.”  
“Did you do that?” The question sprang off his reply almost instantly.  
“I didn't say no or try to stop her.” Ivan shook his head, “I let her, I was interested in the sensation.” He saw no reason in lying about that, “but I sort of led her on.”  
“I'll do it then. First man I see that doesn't say no, I'll kiss him just to see what it feels like.” Cassia decided, nodding firmly.  
“You're looking at a man.” Ivan pointed out, and then fell silent, his statement being quite foolish in its implications. He could feel Cassia's eyes on him.  
“I don't...” Cassia began. He knew what she was going to say.  
“Forgive me I-”  
“...know how to begin.” That surprised him. He lifted his head. She was sat, hands still in her lap with a completely neutral expression that displayed to Ivan pure innocence. Of course Cassia wasn't innocent, she probably knew a hundred ways to kill a man with her bare hands. She was waiting for him. Awkwardly, he shuffled forwards, as far as he could go without tangling himself painfully in the bed sheets, and then twisted his body to face her, which was stiff and reluctant to turn by itself with his body below his hips moving. Cassia remained completely still, upright against the back of the chair upon which she sat. Her legs were thrown to the side of her, dangling. He paused then, holding position as he mentally prepared himself with a deep exhale of waste carbon diode through his nose; despite his moving closer, Cassia still played a neutral expression, something she had shown herself to be a master of. Perhaps he should ask her to teach him how to hold that expression through any occasion as a return of favour. Perhaps she was getting impatient with him. Inhaling, he leaned in and found her lips. They were soft and untainted, unlike his own, which were cracked and flaky with peeling dried skin, surely not the most enjoyable of sensations for Cassia; she did not pull away, but followed his lead, letting him do most of the work. He put his hand on her arm for balance as he applied a gentle boost of pressure, the feeling of pleasure that he had experienced once before spreading throughout his body. Cassia, due to her lack of experience, stumbled through the actions, leaving him struggling to compensate; but he could not put all the blame on her for the lack of fluidity as he had only had one previous memory to draw from, but it was nice, and she must have felt the same way because she pulled him in closer.  
“Cassia, can you zoom in on that corner please?” Brandon's voice sliced them apart, perfectly timed. Cassia released him and Ivan was free to breath and settle himself as the blonde girl slid back onto her chair and propelled it at the computer.  
“What did you want?” Cassia pushed her plait to one side, moving up a hand to wipe her lips as she settled herself in position “zoom right? Which corner?”  
“The alleyway. I'm not sure what that is that's moving.” Brandon responded, quietly.   
“Right. Uh...” She moved the mouse and clicked idly at the screen, not exactly clear on what she was doing, either that or she was readjusting after her moment of euphoria, which he doubted it was for her; he had enjoyed it far too much to say it was simply for Cassia to test the action. He watched her move about the mouse, quietly conversing with Brandon on the other side of the room, and then lay back against the pillows, closing his eyes. Hormonal teenage instinct was what he named the feeling dominated most of his body, and would have preferred for the intimate moment to last a few moments more, but duty called, and it wasn’t exactly anything but experimentation.   
“It’s a cat.” Cassia informed, “a house cat with a collar.” She seemed amused, and leaned back in her seat, folding her hands across her chest.  
“That is a relief.” Brandon replied, a possible hint of humiliation in his voice, but Ivan wouldn’t count on it, they had been raised in a mostly robotic style, although Brandon had said that their emotions were still strong, that wasn’t something that could be easily contained in human-kind. It amused Ivan that the government wanted to make the people they hated emotionless when they so much believed on a world of emotional connectivity, but of course, that made sense – the perfect way to make them seem like an inferior species was do dehumanised them in the trait all held most dear.  
He quite possibly drifted off, as the next thing he was aware of was Cassia lightly brushing his fringe aside to expose his stitched up forehead. He wondered how far along the healing spectrum it was; she traced it with her finger.  
“I could have stopped you for vaulting over that car you know. I do have my speed mastered while you seem to be only part way through conquering your own agility,” she informed, her voice toned in her usual professionalism, but there was something else there too, a touch of warmth, “but it was a grand sight to have witnessed.”  
“Excuse me?” Ivan bit his lip, feeling discomforted at Cassia’s enjoyment of his own painful and terrifying situation. Cassia felt him tense and stopped in her actions, hovering over him.  
“Despite that, I think it was important for you to see the real world and feel pain and understand your superiority. I know I scolded you for your actions initially, but having you jump and injure yourself gave us a better story to get you into a position to help us.” She looked to the carpet; her wooden stick had fallen to ground, and she reached for it, propping it back up where it had previously been, “I keep coming back to this, but I want you to know that we held no malice against you.”  
“I already forgave you.” Ivan smiled weakly, sitting up and reaching for the glass of water he had started, taking a few small sips before the glass threatened to slip from his fingers and he put it down, Cassia’s eyes following the glass throughout its whole journey.  
“My emotions are not very trained.” Cassia sat back heavily, slouching, “they’re running rampant under all this ice.” The ice was an obvious reference to the cold front she usually maintained whilst on the job, “it’s an emotion that I think having a scar on your forehead would suit you, right?”  
“How do you mean?” Ivan questioned. Out of the two of them, Cassia seemed to have more problems with emotions that Brandon did, but Ivan put that down to the mysterious ‘x’ who was obviously the third person in Brandon’s life that had influenced him emotionally after Cassia, and probably before Ivan had been part of his life.   
“In the general public, isn’t a scar thought of as a sign of strength?” Cassia bounced his question off with another; she slightly cocked her head to the left as she asked. Ivan almost snorted, under all those layers of experience and grace, Cassia was just as naïve as he was.  
“I should comb that part of my fringe back and show it to the world then,” Ivan smirked, decidedly going along with what she was saying; he didn’t know if what she was saying had more implications, that Cassia had felt the same way he felt about Alyssia after their kiss, but he knew it was to become nothing. Now was not the time for any of that, and as much as he admired her, he couldn’t see himself, or her, being able to stick together – the feeling would likely pass in his case, a friend was what she was, and a good one, even after all that had happened; more was to happen, he knew that, and he strongly believed that she would stay by his side throughout. That was Cassia.  
“Keep the stubble too.” Cassia added after a moment of thought, “it adds to that effect.” Ivan raised a hand to feel his face; he was used to smoothness, and although he had shaved after he had bought the razor from the shop, the facial hair had returned. He could get used to it, but he would have it short, not long – he didn’t want to grow a beard. He supposed that a change in appearance was his own act of standing up for himself in the same way Brandon had, a change to say it was a new him.  
“It’s an idea.” Ivan agreed. Cassia smiled and reached for his stick, just as there was a knock on the door; her timing was impeccable. She limped out of the room and over to the main door, opening it to allow Brandon entry. The two of them smiled between each other, and Ivan couldn’t help wondering how far the two of them were prepared to go before they buckled and went back to their masters; nineteen and sixteen years they had spent in the enemy camp, it would be hard to break away. He began to wonder if he had made the right choice.  
“How are you faring, Ivan?” Brandon approached. His bruising was still dark, and his ear was a state.   
“Better than you.” He commented, “Let me see to your ear, I studied Biology.” He felt like he had said, or reminded himself mentally about that far too often. Brandon gave a slow nod of compliance, pulling out a small mag from under the bed and perching on the edge of the bed, narrowly missing Ivan’s feet.  
“Antibiotics first.” Brandon unzipped the container and retrieved a small vial of liquid; he dipped a medical needle into it and proceeded to inject himself in the arm, and then Ivan, who grimaced despite the fact he was already in pain, and finally Cassia who hobbled over for that purpose and then hobbled back to the computer chair. Using the same needle immediately over wasn’t the best way to do it, and Ivan would have preferred the tablet kind of pathogen fighting drug, but at least they had access to antibiotics. Brandon handed him the bag then, and he rummaged through it, not quite sure what he was looking for. He settled on a small sewing needle and some black thread, hand shaking as he attempted to poke the thread through the eye, which took him more time that he intended, Cassia watching as he did so. He didn’t warn Brandon as he plunged the needle into his ear, which was quite a foolish thing to do as the boy flinched and caused the needle to slip. Ivan frowned as he recovered it, beginning to reunite the ripped parts of flesh. The finished product was messy, but worked. He patted him on the shoulder when he was done, Brandon promptly stood and walked around to the other side of the bed, climbing on top of the covers and curling up to sleep. He seemed sad.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

“If I’m completely honest with you, I have no idea how we are going to begin.” Ivan admitted, head in his hands. It had been three days, and he was out of bed. The three of them were sat in the main room once more, except this time it was Ivan doing most of the talking whilst Brandon and Cassia listened. Cassia looked much healthier, she was beginning to reapply pressure on her injured foot, much faster than Ivan would have dared in her situation, and her plait had been redone in her usual style, although slightly looser than he normally tied it, and higher up, leaving a larger clump of blonde strands under the band. Brandon looked less comfortable; the bruising was still as bold as it was three days ago, and he had a hand over his ear, cupping it. That unsettled Ivan, thinking his own stitch work was perhaps at fault, Brandon had assured him it was not the case and he had done the best he could have done. Ivan was left to put the pain Brandon was in down to the manner the injuries had been inflicted.   
“Stopping what they want us to do will just get their attention.” Brandon offered his contribution, “we don’t want any extra attention, not now.”  
“What about substitution?” Ivan suggested. Cassia frowned in confusion, “I mean, like we replace the drugs. Own act of rebellion, like you said once.” He turned his glance to Cassia as he said the last line.  
“Replace the drugs with what?” She asked, “we don’t have the ability to create something which does exactly what the public think our drugs do.”  
“Cocaine.” Brandon said immediately after she had finished speaking.  
“Something like that.” Ivan agreed, dropping his hands into his lap. He had been thinking along similar lines, although hadn’t been eager to say it; he was glad Brandon had. Replacing maternity drugs with dangerous ones was bound to cause tragedy on the innocent, but the needs of the many outweighed the need of the few, as he had heard before. Small tragedy, great victory.  
“I can get hold of that. At night the drug addicts hang around some of the alleyways.” Cassia put in, “I could get something from them.”  
“How?” Ivan asked. He hoped she wasn’t going to pursue the kissing route that Ivan had taught. Drug addicts were dangerous, a kiss could lead to more, and then an endangerment to her life.  
“Take a gun, pretend to be a plain clothed police officer.” Cassia explained, tone completely neutral as he expected, “if they resist, shoot one of them.”  
“Like that police officer.” Ivan frowned, “why did you shoot that policed officer, they are under government control, right?” He probably shouldn’t dwell on things that happened in the past, but his mind was drawn to it. She had claimed to have shot him for Ivan’s safety, but somehow that seemed to be a deviation of the truth if the police knew them anyway.  
“Police don’t know about the government use of us. They think as the public do.” Cassia contradicted, “hence why we always have to run. Our superior talents in that field are another reason they commissioned us.” That made perfect sense. Ivan felt foolish for not figuring that out.   
“Do we only have one gun?” Ivan posed another question. He had liked holding that gun.  
“Depends if you’re going to react the same way as you did last time.” Brandon pushed his words out before Cassia could reply. The way the boy spoke bothered Ivan, but he let it slide. He could understand the reason for the tone, his jaw still twinged.  
“I don’t think so. I felt much more comfortable with that gun once I used it.” Ivan replied, “I didn’t want to put it down.”  
“They feel great.” Cassia agreed, “gun in your hand and nobody can cut you down. I wouldn’t think yourself invincible with one however.”  
“I wouldn’t. Everyone can be killed.” Ivan nodded.  
“You’re not a bad shot.” Cassia deviated from the topic of conversation, “much better than Brandon. Give him a gun and tell him to shoot the man in front of him, he’d end up burying a bullet in your leg.” Brandon scowled, “give him a blade however; he’d carve the man to pieces.”  
“Can you show me the basics then?” Ivan asked her, with the gun?”  
“I can do that.” Cassia nodded.  
“So we get cocaine, or something that is the same colour as our drugs.” Ivan summarised what they had previously been talking about in order to switch the conversation to one back on topic, “give them out instead of what we’re given. How long until the government guess what we’re doing?”  
“A week, maybe two.” Brandon made a guess. Ivan could visibly see his mind working; it was almost as if his brain was made of cogs and gears that were beginning to turn faster and faster, “unless we’re smart about it. I told Ms Halversen you shot the girl for identity protection, we could work with that to cover any suspicious acts.”   
“We can’t just leave what we do as that.” Ivan leaned back against the cushions. His jaw was aching from his speed of speech. He imagined Brandon was probably in the same situation, “we have to face them directly, the government, that is.” Brandon visibly tensed at the idea; Cassia’s reaction was more subtle, but it was there, “don’t be afraid of them, they’ll hurt you whatever you do. You wanted to break their hold on you and you can’t do that without a confrontation.”  
“Of course.” Brandon mouthed slowly, hesitant over saying the two word reply.   
“All of us.” Ivan insisted. Brandon was probably thinking about sitting and watching at the computer. As Ivan saw it, he wasn’t going to be much use there if what he planned was possible, “after we begin to push in the nail, we hammer it in. Demand a meeting with the prime minister and then kill her.”   
“They’ll kill us for that.” Cassia leaned forwards, “unless we play it right.” A grin flashed across her face, “we don’t kill her, we warn her.”  
“They’d just replace her with someone else upon her death.” Brandon continued, thinking on the same wavelength as Cassia, “emotional manipulation. She’s more likely to bend the knee to us if we threaten to kill people she holds dear.”  
“And that is why we are the evolution.” Ivan folded his arms, catching his damaged knuckles on his sleeve and wincing. An idea came to him suddenly, and a grin lit up his features, “we use her partner. What they feel, she feels.”  
“I don’t think it is within our capabilities to track down her partner.” Brandon moved his gaze downwards, clearly not impressed with having to admit that.  
“I wasn’t suggesting torture.” Ivan said quickly, “we can’t change the world without holding on to what makes us human, I learnt that. We’d become as bad as them, as bad as I was when I lost control.” It felt odd to call it losing control, but that was what it was. He hated that moment in his immediate past, a shadow of himself he didn’t want to encounter again, “if we want our utopia, we have to build it with our own values.”  
“You still condone killing.” Cassia said coolly, “utopia wouldn’t have murder.”  
“Killing and torture are two different things.” He pointed out, but Cassia did have a point, “the wicked have to die for us to make any progress, that’s unavoidable.” They left the conversation there. Brandon went to bed, Cassia went about checking the newspapers as she usually did. Ivan spent a couple of hours doing the same,  but via the internet rather than physically printed before he lay out of the sofa and slept.  
The next morning, Ivan offered to go out with Brandon to deliver to one of the private hospitals on the outskirts of London. Brandon accepted the offer, and the pair of them left to catch the underground train, somewhat slowly after Ivan had a minor stumble down the stairs. Brandon of course knew exactly where they were going, and they encountered no problems on the journey. Getting in wasn't an issue after Brandon produced some, obviously false, identification papers and they were led down to a storage room; left alone, Ivan began to unload the drugs and place them on the shelves as Ivan removed them, studying the packages and remarking they could trade some of it for cocaine. Ivan had wondered what had happened to the load from the last hospital, Brandon explained he had sold them on the streets for some extra money. Not a bad choice, considering he could have simply given the drugs back to the government to put back into hospitals to start the whole cycle again. When the boxes had been unloaded from the rucksack they had collected down at the river, Ivan had been tempted to pry open some of the packets and switch the drugs around, but he guessed that the room had a camera and he was being observed by someone, somewhere, so resolved to stacking the boxes of pills he despised on the shelf. They had to go somewhere, and something had to replace the medicine they were stealing to trade for harmful substances - London was a small sacrifice for the rest of the country earning freedom. When done, Brandon had slung the bag, containing the drugs they had swapped for, over his back and opened the door for the to leave. Ivan wasn't quite sure what he expected, perhaps to get pulled aside by someone, or Alyssia to show up, but the path out of the hospital was clear and Brandon wished the receptionist a good day as they left and returned back to the flat, again with no problems on the journey.  
The day after, they stayed in, seeing as Brandon found no reason to go and attempt to smuggle the drugs into any food factories. He admitted his guilt to Ivan that morning, about doing the wrong thing. Ivan hadn't quite known how to respond to that and simply said that he hadn't known any better. They proceeded to count their supplies for most of the day, Brandon and Cassia outlining the best place to find the gangs of young adults that they would be able to get some kind of illegal drug from. After dinner, Cassia, hobbling along with even more ease now, led him into her room for a lesson in guns. This was his first viewing of Cassia's room, but it did not surprise him in the slightest; the room, besides a bed, was covered in metal brackets that held various kinds of weaponry up on the walls. Several were empty, whicj led to Cassia's confession that a gun was not the only thing she carried with her. She asked him to pick a gun, which took him some time as he moved around the room slowly to study each one, and selected the one that he recognised as the one he had used to commit murder, somehow, he felt comfortable with that one rather than something that was foreign to his fingers. When he moved away from the wall with it in hand, the first thing Cassia did was step up to correct his grip, pushing his fingers about until she was satisfied he was holding the weapon correctly; she then proceeded to snatch it from him, leaving him bewildered as she dropped herself onto her bed and snapped open the weapon, unloading it with ease into her palm.  
“Wouldn't want you accidently killing anyone.” Cassia explained as she rejoined the segments to the gun and handed it to him on and open palm. Gingerly, he accepted it, careful to place his fingers in the positions Cassia had adjusted them too, although he did not manage to a satisfactory standard as the blonde girl, without a sigh or any visible sign of disappointment, pushed two of his finger a couple of millimetres to the left. It was a little pedantic, but Ivan was sure she had her reasons. Cassia was, in basic terms, a lanky killing machine; to go against what she said in terms of weaponry was a foolish choice.  
“How will I know if I've hit anything then?” Ivan questioned as she stepped back. He lifted the gun and pointed it at a dagger on the wall, closing one eye for aim.  
“Shooting isn't about pointing and pulling.” Cassia reached for his arm, and pushed it back against his body, “rule one is you keep your arm steady, yours is wobbling, you wouldn’t have hit anything other than my wall, which would have been a better choice if it had bullets – the dagger would bounce the bullet straight back into your skull.”  
“It doesn't have bullets, I just saw you unload it.” Ivan returned, smiling smugly at his own comment. Cassia dug her nails into his arm in response, and then grinned back as he scowled.  
“Rule one point five, don't fully extend your arm until you're a complete accurate shot.” Cassia pulled his arm back in as he went to extend it again, “the further away from you the gun is, the less you can see where you are aiming.” She reached for his other hand, her smooth skin passing over his scabbed knuckles, lifting the hand and positioning it on his wrist, “two hands are stronger than one.” She justified, her grip on him tightened as she elbowed her way against his body. Ivan wished that his recent intimate desires would go away as she pressed herself against him and positioned the gun in various different places, saying what she was aiming at each time; after five or six aims, she turned in the best part of a circle, hauling him round rather violently and aimed his hands at Brandon, who was sat typing into his phone, oblivious of Cassia's intentions.  
“With distance you have to compensate.” She held the position, “bullets go fast, but they arc round. Watch.”  She stole the gun from his fingers and cracked it open, loading a single bullet and spinning it in her fingers before pointing it and firing; as the silencer was on, the gun made no noise as the bullet was fired. Instants later a hole appeared in the sofa between Brandon's legs – the boy jumped so violently his glasses fell from his face. Cassia turned to Ivan and took a bow, “I was, without compensating, aiming for his crotch.” She announced as she rose. Ivan found himself laughing; Brandon was offering Cassia the king of glares as he replaced his glasses on his nose.  
“I don't think I could ever trust myself to do that.” Ivan breathed through his laughter.   
“In time.” Cassia refused his statement, “that's another rule, always believe. Doubt causes misjudgement.” Once again she handed the gun to him. He scooped it up, balancing it perfectly between his two hands and turning to aim at Cassia. She did not move to correct his grip.  
“Better.” She gave a satisfactory nod. Joining her in that emotion, he tossed the gun in the air and caught it with one hand, “rule four, don't play with guns.”  
“You do.” Ivan protested as confiscated the weapon once more, placing it back on the wall and sitting down on her bed, foot likely hurting.  
“I'm a professional.” Cassia put in with a wicked grin, “now, off with you. And shut the door.” He did as he was told, surprised that Cassia was choosing to go to bed before Brandon was. As soon as Ivan sat down however, the boy stood up, leaving his phone on the arm of the sofa. He went in the direction of the bathroom, and in his absence, Ivan found his fingers closing around Brandon's phone and pressing the device open. It had no lock, which surprised him – he clicked on the contacts icon; taking out his own phone and twisting it around in his hand, he unlocked it by tapping in the four digit pin he had assigned and pressed the option to add a new contact, which he named with a question mark. Finding 'x' on Brandon's phone, he copied the number into the mobile number field for question mark; he just had time to return the phone to where Brandon had left it before he emerged from the bathroom and announced his intention to go out, striding towards the door before Ivan could even open his mouth to say farewell. He would be going to see 'x', Ivan would have willing placed a bet on it had this have been a game, and for some reason, Ivan couldn't help feeling disappointed. If Brandon had such a strong loyalty to someone else, Ivan wondered how it would that play out if he had an option that inflicted heavy damage on a certain one of those sides; Brandon had shown a strong desire to protect Cassia from harm, and Ivan hoped that mean his loyalty was stronger on their side – but what Ivan failed to understand was why would Brandon put himself through another emotional bond with another, one that was likely to cause a disaster in the near future, considering the risk of showing his face and revealing parts of himself to another that could easily be exposed and their plans shattered; it was a risk in a breach of information, especially now they were breaking away from their original programming. But Brandon wasn't stupid – he wouldn't fall into the trap of betrayal, not after his effort and strong desire to set himself free, which Ivan was utterly convinced in his mind that he had not been lied to again. There had been differences in speech and mannerisms between the two explanations of what was going on, and unless Brandon had become a master of emotional manipulation in two days, Ivan fell on the side of trust. It had taken him a while to figure out it was the subtle changes and the more human nature that had initiated the beginning of his forgiveness – it had all seemed more real than the first hug Brandon had given him, that despite being comforting at the time, felt stiff and wooden now if he compared it. A shiver ran down his spine. This was beyond him, whatever Brandon and this other had was beyond him. He composed a message, informing the reader not to speak of this message, but to state his intentions with the one who named him 'x' in his phone; he signed it with a plus sign and sent it to his newest contact.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

“You can smell them from here.” Cassia commented as she peered around the side of the rough brickwork; behind her, Ivan waited, gun in hand. Another couple of days had passed since his first lesson on the operation of guns, in which Ivan had come to the conclusion that he would never master the art of shooting. In that time, Cassia had made the decision she was capable of doing what needed to be done, and now the two of them were on the trail of a group of drug addicts smoking what Ivan believed the slang term for which was 'weed', “the alley is a dead end,” Cassia reported, “tuck your gun away and approach. I'll serve as backup.” She withdrew from her position, allowing Ivan to replace her; down the alley, several men, and a bedraggled looking woman, were leaning against the walls, drugs wrapped up as cigarettes and hanging from their shrivelled mouths – one was in the midst of a coughing fit. Ivan's acting skills were untested, with a deep breath he staggered out from his place on concealment, grinning widely and feeling rather foolish.  
“Afternoon boys.” Ivan tried, attempting to adapt the way he spoke into a more common tongue than his usual higher classed accent. One of the men, a brawny looking figure who didn't appear to be much older than himself, kicked off from the wall, plucking the rolled up paper from his mouth and waving it about in the air, which seemed to be some distorted signal to stop where he was. Ivan halted.  
“I think ya in the wrong place, friend.” He pushed out his hand and gave Ivan a gentle shove. Looking down at his clothes, Ivan realised in hindsight that he perhaps should have purchased something of a lesser quality.  
“I brought some...stuff.” Ivan had to think for a second for a word to use that sounded more friendly to these kind of people. The man narrowed his eyes.  
“Don't patronize me.” He growled, taking a puff of whatever he had been smoking and blowing it in Ivan's face, the wispy coils of discoloured air momentarily clouded his senses; he had to clench his fists and dig his heels into the ground to avoid flinching and taking a step away.  
“You called me friend.” Ivan replied, ignoring the negative response and releasing the rucksack from his back, “I have stuff.” He repeated.  
“What stuff?” The man demanded, seeming intrigued.  
“Hospital stuff.” Ivan summarised, giving only the basic detail, “new stuff.”  He flashed a grin and raised his eyebrows as he delivered his additional point, a tactic he decided may make what he had seem much more appealing. Sure enough, the man's eyes lit up, and the woman approached, reaching for the bag greedily with an outstretched palm; Ivan held it away from her and she began to claw the air, “trade for some white stuff?” Ivan suggested. He didn't know if these people were smart enough to know names; maybe they didn't even know colours.   
“Who do yer think we are?” The woman hissed.   
“People who like drugs?” Ivan thought the answer was quite obvious, although she did not like it; she pushed the man aside and made a jump for the bag, missing as Ivan stepped aside, leaving her to collide with the wall and crumple in a dishevelled heap, black greasy hair covering her face. The man gave a roar. Ivan produced his gun, just to have knocked straight from his hand as he was slammed violently against the wall, crushing his neck with a wide hairy arm; he may or may not have pulled the trigger before the gun was dropped – with the silencer in use, it was impossible to tell unless there was a bullet mark somewhere in the alley; he however got his answer instantly as the man who had pinned him slumped forwards against his chest and dropped to his knees – a ricochet. The other members of the gang had all alerted themselves to full attention now, and began to form a ring. Another royal mess on his part; Ivan thankfully gulped down the air now available to him again, slowly bending down to retrieve the gun. The man who had been shot was not dead, but had settled on his side, trembling and attacking the ground with an aggression that was splintering his nails; he latched onto Ivan's leg when he tried to step over him, the broken nails biting at the flesh on his ankles. He ripped it free, painfully, and delivered a powerful blow to the man's stomach as he did, gun fully raised and pointed at the nearest member of the gang, who stopped in his tracks, cigarette dropping out of his gaping mouth.  
“Hand over what you have.” Ivan instructed, spoken as a demand, clasping his left hand over his right to steady his arm, “put it down at my feet.” He could hear gentle footfalls behind him, from the corner of his eye he could see Cassia entering the alleyway with her gun pointed out in front of her.  
“Do as he says.” She commanded, stepping up to his side. Her eyes were cold, and her face hard. Two of the gang members exchanged glances before one of them scrabbled about to find a pocket in his dirt-clad jacket and pulled out a plastic bag of half crushed white pills; he threw them at Ivan's feet, bouncing off his shoe and skittering to the side.   
“Is that it?” Ivan questioned, narrowing his eyes at the small amount of illegal drugs they had been presented with, enough for the Northumbria driver perhaps, but not enough for the whole country for the month; Ivan didn't fancy making skirmishes with drug addicts part of his daily routine, “we're offering you something in return.” He did his best to neutralise his tone to flat with an iron edge, but it came out as more of a growl, “we should take it all, considering your poor behavioural response.” He decided he had no care for simplifying his word in this moment, they clearly had never seen him as one of them. Begrudgingly, the man who had tossed over the bag of drugs lifted another out of his second pocket and threw it down before beckoning his two friends to follow suite; the pair had the same amount as the first between them,  which Ivan deemed enough to tip up the rucksack containing his part of the bargain and let three packets of drugs tumble to the floor. He maintained his position as Cassia bent to scoop up the new packages of white tablets, taking the bag from Ivan, and stuffing them in the rucksack. When she was done, Ivan nodded with the muzzle of his gun to the floor, and the new leader of the trio still left standing spat on the floor; Ivan resolved to a smirk and turned on his heel, marching away with his head in the air to show off his clear authority in the situation, with Cassia covering his back until the two were safely out of harm's way, leaving the conscious members of the gang to push over something of a heavy weight so that a loud clatter was audible from the street.  
The sun was beginning rise, wispy tendrils of orange reaching through the tall buildings and illuminating the paths in streaks of light. The street lights began to dim, and flash off as the sensors detected the waking sun, dispelling the darkness and welcoming a new day. Ivan was prompted to yawn; he could already feel the gentle morning heat – today was going to be warm; he already wanted to discard his coat. He wanted to bathe in the light, feel its warmth spread throughout his body as he reminded himself that today was the beginning of a new age. The weather was perfectly fitting, a light in the darkness that promised something new, had it decided to rain, perhaps Ivan's spirits would have been dampened – the drug swap may have not have gone down exactly as planned, but to Ivan, that had been committed in the darkness, and now was light; the day was not a new one in terms of technical time, but it was new one in terms of the light energy that the sun emitted to brighten the surface of the Earth.  
“Any damage?” Cassia queried, her gun vanishing into her inside jacket pocket, question reflective of his health. Ivan reached over to relieve her of the rucksack.  
“Nothing restricting.” Ivan assured her. In truth, he didn't feel as if he had reached optimum health, his body had began to ache from the force he had been shoved against the wall but he refused to let that show; sparing only a single second to glance at his leg by lifting the cloth of the trousers slightly,  discovering a small patch of red blossoming on the white cotton of his sock, “minor flesh wound.” Even if it did sting a little, he had no rights to complain when Cassia was stood next to him with an unhealed hole somewhere is her foot. When he looked back up, she had already begun to move off, walking at a casual, yet somewhat restrained walk. The Northumbria driver was supposedly arriving early this morning; Ivan imagined the driver, the same man who made the deliveries for Yorkshire, usually didn't prepare his lorry and himself to be ready to go at the crack of dawn; but this was Nora, the man who seemed to be infatuated with Cassia, and Ivan was sure one of the symbol designated contacts on Brandon's phone was a number he must have used to pull a few strings. A transaction in the early hours of the morning was suspicious, but less likely to be noticed or pulled over for an inspection, which did happen, apparently; although the government obviously acted oblivious to the drugs, they did need to look like they were trying to combat the issue to the general public, and let the drivers past, unless it was a police unit that stopped the vehicle, which was rare. The government would probably notice that the drugs they were going to supply to Northumbria were not the drugs Northumbria had been assigned and would not act oblivious to that. As much as Ivan was convinced Nora would not be missed, he desired strongly for the first of these small rebellions to succeed without coming anywhere near to the line of failure. He did not fail to catch up to Cassia, her healing wound proving to his advantage as she was deprived of her usual speed; she did not speak, silently focused on her objective of making to her goal without having to take a pause for the pain – Ivan wouldn't have blamed her if she did, but Cassia was prideful. Brandon maintained a silence too, having not spoken at all since him and Cassia had left the flat. Ivan wondered if the boy had fallen asleep, but from what he remembered about this first mission involving food, the sound receivers were very sensitive on Brandon's size, and Ivan could not hear any sleeping sounds.   
“Brandon, are you there?” Ivan decided to try. Cassia's head snapped up to look at him as he spoke.  
“Ready at your command.” Brandon replied after a moment of silence. Ivan could feel a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth; Brandon was the one of authority, he had made that clear throughout Ivan's presence in his and Cassia's lives, the one with the power – for Brandon to say what he did, even if it was possibly meant jokingly, Ivan felt respected. But this was his plan, he was the one who had stepped up to the challenge of making a change, Brandon and Cassia had chosen to follow.  
“I was just making sure you were still a functioning human being.” Ivan reasoned, “I have no commands to give you.”  
“Make the most of it while you can. I'll the one leading you away from the butchers if the butchers decide they want to carve some meat.” Brandon remarked, his choice of words rather crude.  Brandon was correct, even if Ivan most typically varied from what he was told to do. He could see the carp ark peeking out from behind the next corner.  
“We're rounding on the meeting spot, can you see the lorry?” Ivan asked in more of a requesting tone than a commanding one, not at all taking advantage of his chances. It did amuse Ivan that he was asking the boy with the visual impairment to see something for him, but glasses or no glasses, Brandon had a computer with some form of control over the device attached to his ear.  
“No.” Brandon replied after a few seconds, “wait, yes. It just pulled in.”  
“That is a sign the day is climbing in quality.” Ivan mused out loud, clearing the corner and drawing to an instant halt when they rays of sunlight previously hidden by the tall tower blocks broke free and began their assault; Ivan was quick to shield his eyes from the bright light. Sure enough, the lorry had pulled up to a stop almost directly ahead, the bulk of the container casting a long shadow across the empty tarmac; Ivan was grateful for the new protection that allowed the removal of his arm from his head as he approached.  
“Morning.” Ivan greeted as he spotted the figure climbing out from the front of the lorry. Dressed in a similar fashion to how he had been during their last meeting, Nora was clad in mostly navy, which suggested it was his assigned colour and he too had chosen to stick strictly to that in terms of a dress code as Brandon had originally done before his recently switch to brown, which unfortunately also began with the letter B. Ivan wondered if he has even been assigned a colour.  
“What's this all about?” Nora asked immediately, dropping down from his lorry to the ground with a wincing thud that must have been quite painful on the man's knees; Ivan would have classified Nora as a man rather than a boy, as in appearance he clearly had a few years on himself – in mentality, judging from one meeting, that seemed to be another story.  
“Nothing.” Ivan replied, being rather short in tone, “just take the supply and go.” With limited information to judge Nora, Ivan was unsure if he could trust the man with the knowledge of what they were planning; yet conspiring against the government was not a task of ease for three.   
“Nora would be easy to manipulate to to our side.” Brandon senses his unease and spoke to reassure him, “he'll turn if we promise him protection.”  
“We brought something a tad bit different.” Ivan informed at Brandon's guidance, holding out the rucksack for Nora, who gingerly accepted it and peered within.  
“Isn't this illegal?” Nora's eyes widened.  
“As is what we were doing, technically.” Ivan countered. From the corner of his eye, Ivan could see Cassia hovering behind him.  
“But why? They'll kill me if they catch me with this.” Nora held the bag back out, reluctant to accept what he had been offered. His hand was trembling slightly.   
“There was nothing stopping them killing you before. Just inconvenience.” Ivan returned, somewhat pleased by his confidence. To say his mental state had been in tatters a short while ago, he was very impressed with his recovery. He offered Nora a warm smile, “we can do this, free ourselves.” Seeing as the bag was still within his own grip, Nora pulled it back, unzipping his jacket and using one of the sides to cover his new package. He was grinding his teeth.  
“Everything has changed since you came along.” Nora stated, sparing a glance at Cassia, “I think I wish that you had never come here.” He narrowed his eyes, using his spare hand to produce the stack of money which he handed over, “I counted it, they cut the payment.”  
“You see, they're almost ready to be rid of us!” Ivan hissed, flipping through the notes before letting his pocket devour them. His tone was a mixture of irritation at Nora's comment and the man's lack of enthusiasm for the plan; Nora backed away, “they clearly didn't make you into a robot.” Ivan commented, “you're too nervous and...” he searched for a word he could use without being insulting, “well practised in certain emotions.”   
“I had to interact with people. I'm supposed to have emotions.” Nora scowled, clearly offended by Ivan's last remark, “we all are. We are human beings.”  
“They don't see you as that. They don't believe your emotions are any more than an act perfected from training.” Ivan was quick to correct his thinking, “what I mean is, you're just the same as us, you want a world where difference is excepted.” Nora gave a slow nod in reply.  
“Can you promise me that we can do this?” Nora asked, expression expecting and hopeful.  
“Yes.” Ivan nodded, “yes, I can.” He held out his hand in an offering to shake, which Nora looked down at blankly for a couple of seconds before realising Ivan's intentions; it took him another few seconds to take hold of Ivan's hand, “you do everything you can to make sure these drugs make it to Northumbria and I will have your back.” Ivan shook Nora's hand firmly, “deal?”  
“Deal.” Nora agreed, grasping hold of Ivan's hand much tighter than Ivan was comfortable with. He didn't understand why his hand was illuminated in a beam of yellow light, which he presumed was owned by the sun until he raised his head to Nora's face and followed the man's gaze; there was a police car heading straight for them at a speed that would have made Ivan tighten his grip if the other man hadn't already taken that responsibility. The memory of the pain of colliding head-first into the pavement flooded back to him as instinctively, as he had no second to think, pulled Nora against him and threw himself at the raised segment of tarmac.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Pain shot through his body as he landed, Nora no doubt feeling it too as the pair of them rolled, meeting one of the lorry wheels that halted them in their tracks. Ivan heard the police car hit the pavement and collided heavily with the fence, creating the sound of crunching metal.  
“In the lorry!” Brandon yelled immediately. Whether the comment was aimed at himself, Cassia, or the pair or all three of them, which obviously Nora could not hear, Ivan was quick to try and pick himself up, cracking the top of his head on the lorry as he did so. Rethinking, he rolled back out, pulling himself onto his knees as soon as he was free, completely unbalanced with his head throbbing in exactly the same place as it had done before – he had given his body no break. Nora made an audible squealing noise.  
“Come on!” Ivan encouraged, flapping one hand to beckon the man out from his hiding place. The man had frozen in place. This couldn't be happening, “I can't protect you when you're down here!” Nora held out a hand; Ivan grabbed it and tugged, dragging the reluctant body out from below the place he wanted to be, the strain on his arm difficult to bear. As soon as Nora was free, his head snapped up, searching for the officers who had been inside the car, discovering that one had emerged and was pointing a gun at Cassia while she mirrored him in pose; the other was visible at the wheel, tugging at the various control sticks and backing himself slowly away from the railing he had collided with. Nora was clinging to him like ivy around a tree, he hauled the man up and pushed him towards the lorry door, “our best chance, get in.”  
“Yes, yes okay.” Nora pulled open the door and threw himself inside, bouncing across the leather and then pushed by Ivan as he too clambered inside.   
“Cassia, you need to get in the lorry!” Brandon repeated his instruction, this one directed clearly at the girl who was not in the lorry.   
“Pull us round to drive as close as you can to that police officer.” Ivan turned to Nora as he started the engine, the rucksack containing the drugs falling below his feet. Nora looked up at him fearfully, “do it!” He shouted; Nora slammed his foot on one of the pedals, lurching the lorry forwards. The engine rumbled and they began to move. Nora bumped them along the pavement, brushing against the railings violently; as soon as the police officer was in range, Ivan threw open his door, the result being heavy metal colliding with bone, knocking the officer backwards across the bonnet of his car, “Cassia!” The blonde girl, witness to Ivan's actions responded to his call by racing towards the lorry before either of the police officers could make any movement and leaping in, falling short of the mark and leaving herself hanging from the seat of the with the tips of her fingers as Nora continued to rev the engine, grinding against the front of the police vehicle, the force almost knocking Cassia from her compromising position. Ivan did his best to grasp hold of her, but she was slipping, feet bushing along the front of the police car as they forced their way past; the officer sprawled across the bonnet was beginning to recover as it had not been at a high speed he had been hit, he reached out for his gun.   
“When I say now, let go and jump upwards!” Ivan called out to her desperately, clinging onto Cassia's arm. As she looked up at him, oddly calm despite the growing panic in her eyes, he switched a hand to her other slipping hand, holding her in place, “now!” She let go. The momentum she provided was enough to pull her in far enough for safety; his heart was pounding against his chest as she fully dragged herself into the seating area, breathing heavily and resting her head against the headrest, closing her eyes.   
“Now get out of there.” Brandon's instructing voice had calmed, although he sounded like he had just let out a breath of air he had been holding for a while and was in the process of stabilising his own breathing, “good work, that was impressive.” Ivan smiled, stretching out to bring the door to a close before settling back in his own seat; as much as he wanted to rest alongside Cassia, he had made a promise to Nora and had no intention of breaking his deal of protection.  
“You know the roads. We need to lose them and anyone they may have called as backup.” Ivan turned to Nora. The man was sweating, chewing his lip as he spun the wheel, turning them sharply whilst giving a nod of acknowledgement.  
“Did I do okay?” He asked, eyes flickering away from the road for an instant of a second.  
“You did great.” Ivan nodded, “now keep focused, keep being great.” They skidded away from the barrier, the back of the lorry forceful knocking against the police car where it had previously been rubbing against as they bounced away from the pavement. Cassia's head lolled against the headrest, eyes fully open.  
“Cassia?” Ivan reached out a hand to touch her arm but decided against it and retracted his hand before he was even close to setting it down. Her pupils moved from the windscreen to him.  
“Ivan?” She returned his name in response to her own being called.  
“Are you alright?” Ivan asked cautiously.   
“Perfectly.” She nodded, her focus drifting back to the windscreen, “there's another one.” Ivan's head snapped back to a frontal view, spotting the object of Cassia's attention instantly just as Nora tugged hard on the wheel and turned them sharply away from the incoming backup police vehicle and onto the main road. With several lanes, the practised driver was easily able to weave in and out of the traffic, receiving several aggressive honks of car horns in response to his reckless driving; through the mirror above his head, Ivan could see the pair of police cars in the distance, one with a noticeable partly crushed bonnet.   
“We need more speed.” Ivan commented, biting down on the edge of his lip. Nora visibly slammed his foot down against one of the pedals, jerking the steering device quite suddenly as he had to compensate for the increase in acceleration as he weaved. It was not long before the traffic began to get thicker, and Nora spun the lorry to the right to avoid becoming ensnared amongst cars that the police could easily part with the sirens that blared in the near distance.  
“Take another right, now.” Brandon said firmly.  
“Take another right!” Ivan repeated so that Nora could hear the instruction; the man was quick to respond, spinning the wheel round so that the lorry turned, clipping the corner of the pavement, onto the new route that was somewhat less of a main road, but littered with parked cars sitting outside fancy looking houses with clean white brickwork and freshly painted black iron gates. The sirens did not fade away.   
“Where am I going?” Nora had tightened his grip on the wheel, knuckles whitening and his voice trembling with panic.  
“Safety.” Ivan used the first word that he could conceive, which felt like a lie as soon as it tumbled from his lips. Perhaps it had been too much of an ask for this one thing to go exactly as planned; yet they had thrown of pursuers before, they could do it again.  
“Can we dump the lorry?” Ivan questioned, the idea springing alive from the empty dirt.   
“What?!” The first response was from Nora, an incredulous screech.  
“Yes if you take it along the river. You could use the water and foliage as a cover.” The second was from Brandon, who seemed a little more open to the suggestion.   
“Drive in the direction of the river.” Ivan composed his voice to remain flat, practising Cassia's talent. Nora took his eyes away from the road to stare at him in disbelief.  
“My lorry, I can't dump my lorry!” The man protested, looking back in time to swerve out of the way of an incoming car; Ivan could have sworn the sirens were creeping closer.  
“If you want to live, you'll do what I say!” Ivan raised his voice, getting the needed response as Nora flinched and nodded, once again tugging at the wheel so the corner was taken roughly, the weight of the rear almost dragging them into one of the trees lining the road; Ivan let out a breath of relief when they missed it, simply carrying on down the new road at high speed, tyres screeching from the strain. Ivan tensed, closing his hands around the side of his seat to hold himself in position as the heavy vehicle lurched, engine spluttering. Nora's face was contorted into a mixture of fear and concentration, a combination of emotion that Ivan felt uncomfortable with. Cassia's neutral expression had cracked; breaking into something that showed some concern as she turned her head away from him and into the wing mirror, eyes fixed on the location of the two police cars that were quickly covering ground. Out speeding them would be an impossible feat. As they climbed up to flank the lorry, Nora spun the wheel in both direction, attempting to bat them aside like insects attacking the face; the damaged one was bowled away, struggling to swerve to stay on the road, but the untarnished car clung stubbornly, pushing forwards to cut them off and force them to a halt, although at the speed they were going, Ivan wondered if the lorry would simply power through the police car as though it was paper; but it would still grind them to a halt, despite the sacrifice of life. Instead, lights flashing, it carried on ahead, pulling up a distance away, barricading the end of the road; one of the officers dropped his window and stuck his head out, resting his gun arm on the car door as he aimed.  
“Abort! Abort!” Ivan yelled. Nora spun the wheel just as a bullet slammed through the windscreen, shattering the glass inwards. Ivan barely had time to cover his face, and behind his limited protection he heard Nora scream. Dropping his hands, he reached out to grab hold of the wheel, spinning them away from the armed police officer and almost into a house, if Nora hadn't been there to correct him; the bullet had hit him in his upper ribcage and he was bleeding out to a large extent, red liquid covering his clothes in the short amount of time that had passed since the damage had been done.  
“You promised protection.” The man said weakly, grabbed hold of his shirt with the hand that had fallen from the wheel.  
“You're not dead yet, keep with me!” Ivan commanded, pulling himself from Nora. Cassia had pulled out her gun and was firing repeated shots at the police car, having hit the shooter square in the forehead. Her expression was one of grim satisfaction despite the long thin line of blood that cut her features, marked by a single shard of glass that was slowly slipping down her face, but sirens still whirred near and far; the damaged police car was moving up the road to mirror the actions of its partner car, and having turned a hundred and eighty degrees, Ivan was painfully aware of the two other police cars approaching. Cassia spun the weapon about herself, aiming it downwards and peppering the damaged police car with bullets, for the little good it did besides dent the roof.   
“Side road! Take it! Get out!” Brandon shouted in short sentences, audibly pounding his curled up fits on the computer desk. Nora had seen it to, as the pair of them went to pull the wheel at the same time, turned it to far and brushed off the edge of a garden fence.   
“I can do this!” Nora hissed, elbowing Ivan away from the wheel. It was clear from watching his chest that the man was now struggling to breathe and should be relieved from his job, but Ivan did not know how to drive, nor did Nora seem eager to give up his position. They made it abut halfway to the t-junction, sirens once more gaining, before Nora began to slump across the wheel and Ivan had no choice but to hold the man back up, which seemed fruitless as the police vehicles sped past them, skidding to a halt ahead to form a stronger impregnable barrier. It four of the total five that took part in this formation; the fifth remained behind to block an escape. Trapped. Nora wasted a large proportion of his quickly draining energy to slam his foot on the break; Cassia almost thrown though the sharp frame of the remaining windscreen if Ivan hadn't grabbed her firmly by the waste, the combined weight of them holding them back – Nora hit the steering wheel hard.  
“Get out.” Nora said weakly. He slowly manoeuvred a hand as Cassia pulled Ivan down against the seat to miss a spray of bullets, one of the narrowly missing Nora's head, “get out.” He repeated, finding the gear stick and pulling the lorry into a steady reverse.  
“Do what he says.” Brandon said softly. If Ivan could have seen the boy with glasses at this present moment, he would have guessed the emotion of sadness would have clearly been betrayed on his face in some shape of form. His voice, beneath the new level of flatness undertaken, was hinted with that emotion. Ivan found himself starring up at Nora's face for a moment, unsure how to react or how to move – was this man his friend? He was as good as dead, but he could not find any tears. The promise had been broken, ultimately Ivan's failure to uphold his end of the bargain bringing a swift end of what Nora had made a deal for.  
“Now. Please.” Nora begged. Ivan felt Cassia shift behind him, slithering forwards on the leather seats until she was close enough to rise beside Nora, and lay a hand on his chest, his blood coating her skin instantly and dripping down her arm. Nora looked at her blankly, although Ivan could see a distant longing; she kissed him, gently, the way Ivan had taught her, pouring her energy into something that to an outsider of the reaction looked truly glorious. They parted as a bullet hit skimmed Nora's jaw, him pushing her away in a signal which informed her to go, just as he had been saying with words. He yanked the gear stick away from reverse and onto the highest gear, somehow still alive.  
“Out.” Brandon reinforced what Nora had said, but Ivan did not need to be told again. Cassia reached for him, and he pulled her in, hand stretching out for the door on his side and pushing it open and Nora revved the engine; as if Cassia's kiss had renewed some of his strength, he maintained his grip on the wheel, moving his foot to another pedal. Blood was beginning to dribble from his lips, but Nora was resilient, pushing his foot down onto the accelerator as Ivan let himself drop from the lorry. It all happened in an instant of a second, crashing into the ground with Cassia against him, a visible cloud of fire and smoke as the ear piercing sound of a crunching collision of a lorry and four police cars occurred, the momentum of the impact dragging the side of a large house into the fray. Ivan didn't look for long. The numbness faded and a fresh torrent of pain hit him like a wave as something wet splatted onto his cheek. He nudged Cassia lightly and she picked herself up, understanding the urgency of the situation as they were both aware of the damaged police car that had been waiting behind, still equipped with at least once police officer that could easily cut them down whilst compromised. She held out her hand, and he took it, donating half of his weight to her as hey was hauled to his feet.   
“Run!” Brandon instructed once more. Ivan wasn't sure if his body could take it. Unable to locate the source of his current pains, he let Cassia drag him along as she broke into a sprint, choosing a narrow alleyway that a car would be unable to pursue them down. To Ivan's surprise, nobody followed. They stopped behind some bins when Ivan had made it clear he couldn’t take any more and needed to rest, finally locating his pain to his knee and his elbow on his left hand side, “I think that was a warning.” Brandon suggested as Ivan slumped against the wall, outstretching his throbbing leg. Cassia chose to sit with her back to him, facing the wall. He was breathing too heavily to ask her why she wouldn't look at him. He was not the only one to associate this with the formation of a problem. “Cassia?” Brandon ventured.   
“Yes Brandon?” Cassia replied. She was doing her best, but Ivan could detect a slight wobble to her voice.  
“Are you okay?” Brandon continued. Ivan didn't think she was, that none of them were. The government, intentional or not since it had been the police over government linked security forces, had just proved their supremacy. Eyes, they had eyes everywhere; Ivan thought back to 'x', the mystery person had not replied when he last checked; he slipped his phone out of his pocket and turned on the screen. There was a message, reading that his 'intentions were to offer what others could not' which made Ivan wrinkle his face. He typed out a response questioning what was meant by that sentence.  
“I'm fine.” Cassia returned sharply. Ivan was tempted to ask her why she had kissed Nora, since she had called the man insufferable and seemed to hate every bone in his body. But Nora had fought until the end, using his final acts to protect them from harm, quite the opposite of what Ivan promised. Ivan felt the desire to thank him, even if he couldn't hear. A funeral, all in good time.  
“You're not.” Brandon stated the obvious. Ivan realised then that the liquid he had felt on his face had been her tear. He could not hear her crying, so her emotion was not strong, not heavy sobs but rather a small leak in her outer shell; however much she hated, or did not hate Nora, the man was dead. He had to remind himself of that, the memory almost dreamlike in quality. As much as he desired to know, it was not his place to inquire about what occurred between them, especially not now; he wanted to move to her and comfort her – but his phone screen relit up with an incoming message, reading 'what do you think it means' with a question mark to complete the message.  He did not like this person. Another message came through, 'he's loyal to me'.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Sirens began to whirr again. Ivan forcefully pushed himself back onto his feet.  
“We need to keep moving.” He spoke his intentions. Cassia gave a small nod of acknowledgement and stood up, only turning away from the wall when she had reached her full height, “Brandon, put together a bag of medical tools and meet us at the green north to the flat.” He added, not quite sure what his intentions were, but clear in his mind that he wanted to keep using the day rather than retiring and seeing if tomorrow would be any kinder. That may have been kinder on his body, but that was the expected; in a game, one had to play an unexpected move to beat an opponent, so this was what he had to do.  
He walked side by side with Cassia to the location he had specified, taking a seat on one of the hard oak benches that lined the path through the sea of green grass, clicking his phone screen on and off – he hadn't replied to the last message yet, he wasn't sure how to since he couldn't jump to any conclusion that Brandon was betraying anything, yet somehow the police had known exactly where to find them which had led to the death of someone Ivan had considered key to his plan. When Brandon arrived, the bruises on his face finally dulling to a pale yellow, he stood and plucked a small branch from the overhanging tree, stabbing it into the soft soil and transforming it into a small mound to maintain the branch's vertical position.   
“It's the best I can do, for a funeral.” Ivan nodded down at his work. Brandon set the medical supplies down on the bench and looked down at it in puzzlement.  
“We don't have graves, marked or unmarked.” Cassia informed, shaking her head slightly as she spoke. Her eyes were glistening with water, but the tears had stopped falling, the stains visible on her face from where the liquid had dried. She moved forwards to destroy the heap with her foot, but Ivan stepped in front of her before she could.  
“We do now.” Ivan said fiercely, and Cassia stepped back. He felt guilty at his own lack of emotional response to Nora's death, but whatever sadness he felt was overridden by a strong anger that Ivan remember was responsible for a bitter hate; he kept his hands curled into tight balls to channel that anger away. He had seen Brandon using that method, perhaps it would work for him.  
Ivan stood back. Cassia and Brandon clearly knew what a funeral was, so Ivan assumed they knew the correct procedure. He stepped back and bowed his head, standing in the grass, maintaining a respectful silence to bid a sort goodbye. The pair followed suite, and Ivan was curious to what Brandon and Cassia's thoughts were during the time of reflection, as they had known Nora for a good deal longer than he had, and even if they had labelled him as insufferable, yet Cassia, the girl made of steel, the person Ivan associated with displaying the least emotion out of the three of them, had displayed a stronger emotion to the driver's exit from living than he himself had. She had quelled that emotion now, stoic in face as she blinked down at the makeshift grave. Fire melted steel. Not that his opinion of her was lowered, nothing was unbreakable. His thoughts drifted back to Nora, and he made a quiet apology to the man for failing to protect him when he had said that he would. He moved away from the mound of dirt then, and took hold of the medical kit on the bench and went and sat in the grass for his own comfort. Rummaging, he found some painkillers in tablet form, which was lucky considering the Brandon seemed to have a preference for taking medication via needle and syringe, that he was able to dry swallow, scrunching up his face as he forced the hard curved objects down his throat. For his own convenience, Ivan did not return the box of painkillers to the bag but moved them to his pocket. After that task had been completed, he rolled up his sleeve and prodded the bone that represented his elbow before the painkillers kicked in, able to determine that the bone was slightly out of place, so he took a bandage and wrapped it tightly around to hopefully maintain some stability; a sling and lack of arm movement would have been ideal, but Ivan did not see that as a possibility with the ideas starting to take shape in his mind. He bound his knee too, stopping when Cassia and Brandon both broke away from the grave simultaneously to sit beside him, seemingly ready for whatever instruction Ivan proposed; instead, he took a  disinfectant wipe to Cassia's face and cleaned the glass induced scratch. Cassia was as though physically as her personality suggested, for the cut was not deep despite the speed the glass had been propelled towards them – Ivan had multiple tiny cuts on his hands and wrists that had some depth, but he had no intention of wrapping up the part of himself he needed the most; for Cassia he used a simple plaster. He made sure to pack away what he had used when he was finished before he settled himself into a comfortable position while Brandon and Cassia waited expectantly. The roles had reversed, the pair of them were like children.  
He tore off a small clump of the grass in which he sat, squeezing it between his fingers and then casting it away into the light breeze, watching it float away. As it did so, Brandon caught one of the strands in his palm and trapped it there, opening the palm to Ivan once he had moved his hand back down into his lap, to show the strand of green; as Ivan went to take it, the wind scooped it up and carried it away.  
“That strand of grass represents what we want.” Ivan said softly, watching it float away once more, “carried away on forces out of our control.” Brandon looked at him blankly; Ivan picked himself up and followed the path of the grass blade, the strand falling into a green sea that made it impossible to relocate. With a frown, he picked another strand to move his point, “we have to go and get it.”  
“You want us to go to them.” Brandon stood up to beat Ivan's new height advantage, “they wouldn't kill us in parliament, but they could arrest us and kill us somewhere else.”   
“Not if we asked for a meeting in good faith, unarmed.” Ivan put forwards. He thought about reassuring the boy that nothing would happen, but Nora had been a perfect example of the imperfect world. Ivan would not admit it, but the thought of his own life ending in that manner terrified him. Even the idea of failure and death itself was something that Ivan felt himself beginning to fear; but he could not give in.  
“They'll still kill us if they want to.” Brandon countered, “but not if we deal the damage.” Ivan had been comparing the similarity of this conversation with the last one they had participated in on the same subject matter, but something had now changed, that factor being Brandon’s willingness to cooperate.   
“Kill them.” Ivan returned. Brandon's face lit up, his own flames created in his molten eyes. Ivan remembered his internal debate about being responsible for another murder, but it was clear enough now that his choice was limited.  
“A warning shot.” Brandon's fire turned to ice, the spark much colder, “not a full attack but a display of power to show we can still move our pieces. Kill one of two, but make it painful.”  
“Now, while they're bathing in their victory.” Ivan added. He felt uncomfortable with Brandon's statement, but truly in nature, he was associating himself with two people brought up with mindsets designed to function in a somewhat robotic fashion; borderline psychopathic thoughts came with that, he supposed; even still, the thought sent a shiver down his spine. Brandon nodded vigorously as he spoke. It's his nature, Ivan reminded himself once more, “we could go to parliament now.”  
“The houses of parliament is easy to gain access to.” Cassia confirmed. Tell them you have a meeting with the prime minister and they'll lead you in. The prime minister doesn't spend too much time in parliament, but if you say you have an appointment they will most likely assume she is present, like fools.” Ivan wouldn't have branded them all as fools, but being trained by the government did let her in on the how they operated. Assuming the government had failed to consider the possibility that their subjects would turn on them, which was most likely the case sixteen years ago when Cassia was born. He could see out of the corner of his eye Brandon sliding the medical bag into his own lap.  
“Brandon, you're coming.” Ivan had an instantaneous decision; Brandon was not designed to work in the field, but this was different, and he wanted the boy by his side, not only for his expertise but to set his own mind at ease as 'x' was on the top of Ivan's lists of suspects to how the police had known their meeting point for Nora, which had been newly arranged the day before. It could have been the gang that had betrayed what they had received and from who, with the police making a lucky guess following the information they had previously collected, but Ivan did not see the police force as smart; the sea-saw of possibilities tipped towards 'x' playing the role of a villain.   
“This is parliament, Ivan.” Brandon narrowed his eyes in a mix of disbelief and thought, “my role allows us to operate much more efficiently as I serve as your third eye and have instant access to certain communications and maps.”  
“You don't have maps of the inside of the houses of parliament.” Ivan returned, “you can take information from the paperwork laying about hack into the communications lines.” Brandon looked hesitant, as if he was withholding some information, “this is a different kind of mission. We're not trying to find the best route or avoid detection. We're going to be trying to deliver damage through words and actions, and the more of us, the better.”  
“Not the best of plans.” Brandon argued, face as blank as a sheet of paper. Ivan was beginning to feel uncomfortable with the weight of both him and Cassia on his shoulders, guiding the two of them through this maze of traps to their own freedom; he wasn't a leader. Of course his plan wasn't the best of plans, he was a follower not a leader.   
“I need you.” Ivan made his last plea, “you're making me into your leader and that isn’t what I am.” He voiced his thoughts. Brandon was studying him intently, “you're the leader, Brandon, step up to your position. You know what we have to do, but you're holding yourself back.” Brandon let go of the medical kit and folded back his sleeve to reveal the hilt of a blade tightly wound around his arm by what looked to be a bandage, which he unwrapped; the steel looked cool and untarnished, with an almost beautiful quality to it against the a dull pine wood handle. The boy spun it in his fingers before pulling his own foot onto his lap and using the knife to prise open the soul of his burgundy boots, showing it to be a hollow storage compartment which was big enough Brandon's knife.   
“They never check the shoes.” Brandon grinned slyly, patting Ivan on the back and leaping to his feet in a sudden burst of energy. Ivan was left dumbfounded. Opposite him, Cassia's lips flickered in amusement. Her gun would be too large to fit into one of her boots, and from her expression, Ivan gathered that the knife concealment in the soul of a boot was Brandon's own design. Cassia wouldn't need a gun or blade to do damage, but Ivan felt naked without a gun. He stood up slowly, examining himself for a place to hide a large bulk, considered his underwear, but was stopped by Brandon's hand.  
“You do not need to hide your weaponry.” An instruction; Ivan was familiar with instructions, but Brandon's change to leadership made him just as uncomfortable and leading himself.   
“Why?” Ivan looked up at him firmly.   
“As an intelligence officer, they know me. If I walk in and demand a meeting, I'll get one. As much as they devalue me, their biggest fear is exposure of their plans.” He began to walk away in the direction of the flat, swinging the bag of medical supplies over his shoulder.  
“A minute ago, you had no desire to do this.” Ivan followed him.  
“A minute ago I was listening to you speak and thinking.” Brandon returned without looking over his shoulder. Cassia overtook him and moved to walk besides the other boy; walking simultaneously in step ahead and leaving Ivan to his thoughts. When hey arrived outside the building, Ivan left them to go inside and collect whatever materials they needed while he leaned against the wall, looking up at the sky and the cloud formations as they danced, contorting in shape as they moved across the powder blue sky. People were like cloud, easily changeable and unpredictable, forever moving,;but he wasn't sure of that. He wasn't sure of anything., he hadn't been for a while.   
They were not gone for long, Brandon appearing completely unchanged bar the medical kit, although Cassia had clearly brought along of a bulk of weaponry, handing Ivan a second gun as she passed him. Ivan put it in the opposite coat pocket to where he kept the other one, alongside the doughnut that he had still failed to eat after all this time; he had forgotten it was there, which was a shame since it was likely now inedible, but back when he had exiled himself to the street, the sweet bread would have been a useful source of energy. He vowed to deliver it to a bin the next time he passed one, providing he was wearing his coat at that time; they did not pass a bin on the short walking distance they traversed to catch the bus, and Ivan did not think to look amongst the hundreds of people milling around in main London for a place to throw his doughnut away, although there was most likely places. He stuck to Brandon and Cassia' heels, following the pair like a lost puppy. Soon, the river Thames was looming ahead, and the large block of a building that was designated the houses of parliament sat, a target ready and waiting. When they reached the entrance via climbing slowly over the railings that the guard on patrol was conveniently facing away from, Cassia pushed him gently away from view before Brandon approached the large oak door and pushed it open, which surprised Ivan. He wasn't sure how he had expected for them to get inside, but it certainly wasn't by just walking in. He decided to admire the stone work while he waited to be summoned; a grand structure it was, rebuilt after a fire two hundred years ago, and a clear representation of the craftsmanship of the time, large arcs and very fine in detail reminding Ivan of the hotel in which he first held a gun – he hoped this was not to be another rendition of those events. As he followed the structure of the building back down from its height to the door, it creaked open and a hand beckoned them inside; Ivan stepped into the grand hallway first, looking upwards and admiring the high ceiling as Cassia gently closed the door behind her. Ivan could sense her moving her hands to take out a pair of guns, which van wouldn’t have though was a good idea until they had made their way deeper into the building, but understood as soon as he brought his eyes down to the level for his height and was greeted by the sight of two guards, one of which was clearly lifeless and slipping down the right hand wall and the other sprawled out across the marble floor, blood spurting from a line of scarlet that marked his neck; the guard's hands were at his throat, but he was as good as dead. Ivan watched him as he grasped at the straws of life, falling closer and closer of his own oblivion, and then he let go, tumbling into the void as his eyes glazed over. Ivan felt nothing, not sadness, no happiness, perhaps his emotions were broken. This was Brandon's work, and the blade responsible was sat snugly in his hand, dripping with the blood of the fallen; trained killers, he was dealing with trained killers, oh how he kept forgetting.   
“Office adjoining the commons lobby.” Brandon pointed down the corridor with his knife, pointing directly at a woman who had turned the corner and had stopped dead in the corridor, frozen in place. Before Ivan had to chance to mention it, something hit her in the chest and she crumpled to the ground, scattering her folders and paperwork in various directions. Ivan did not need to look far to find the barrel of Cassia's pistol pointing almost directly to where the woman's body had been when she had been stood; this was going to be a massacre. Although she was likely dead as soon as Cassia's bullet had struck the target, Ivan nudged her with his foot as they passed, to be cautious; his own hands fell to his pockets, not quite drawing his weapons but ready to expose them if necessary, his head constantly looking back over his shoulder as they navigated the endless maze of corridors for what seemed to be an infinite amount of time, most of which were empty, another surprising revelation for Ivan; they did pass one old man, who seemed completely obvious to the fact they were carrying weapons, who smiled and tipped his hat – even Cassia frowned as he walked away, and for a moment, Ivan thought she was going to put a bullet in his back. The first real sign of life they found was in a large hall, which was dotted with a collection of people of various sizes dressed in suits and other traditionally power suggesting clothing. At this point, they stopped.  
“That office there.” He nodded his head towards a door in the side of the crowded room, “follow that wall to the narrow corridor. Room is down there.” He patted his pocket, “you know how to get in touch.”  
“Where are you going?” Ivan challenged, not keen on the suggestion of splitting up here, not when there were this may faces.   
“To my meeting.” Brandon replied, almost innocently, “of course, there will be nobody for me to meet with.” He dipped his head to them and moved to cross the room. Brandon did not fit into this picture, standing out like a sore thumb with his brown and white jumper, but nevertheless, he made it to the other side of the room unchallenged, blade pushed up his sleeve – granted, he gained a few hostile glances, but these people had likely made the assumption that he was here on an invitation, and although they were as unimpressed by Brandon's clothing choices as Ivan was, they had no place to challenge a guest of someone who was obviously in a place of high power to let them walk free about the place. It did seem odd that were was a lack of substantial security. Ivan shook his head, starting on the route he had been instructed to follow, moving around the wall, weaving in amongst the people, until he found the bend, following that around until he found a door with a handle. His had fell to it, palm grasping the rounded knob and twisting it to one side, allowing the door to gently click and open into the office beyond.  
It was empty. He turned around to inform Cassia of his discovery, but found that she was gone too.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Ivan moved into the office, fingers finding the edge to the door and pushing it closed behind him. Alone he may be, but useless he was not. Brandon had mentioned this office to him before he had instructed him alone, assuming that he hadn't lost Cassia in the past few seconds, and if that was the case he cursed his own lack of observation, to explore it, at their entrance. It had been a general statement, but if Brandon had assigned Ivan to this room, it surely was of something important. He moved to the desk, an organised desk with several piles of paper stacked in opposite directions to separate different sections from one another, bordered with a telephone that was in no way modern, still connected by a coil to the box in which the digits needed to be pressed in order to begin a communication; the one thing Ivan did notice was that it was coloured similarly to a clear summer's sky, which seemed rather odd for a phone in an office belong to someone is this line of work. He knew this colour, not in the sense that it was the colour of the current skyline, but he associated it with someone, and he couldn't put his finger on it; he couldn't quite put his finger on the phone either, physically nothing was stopping him, but mentally he had decided it was a bad move. 

_~ FINI ~_

_I have no plans to write anymore. I started hating this as soon as it was done, if I'm honest. The plans from here was to set things alight, jump around a lot, mess with the higher powers and Ivan's family and Brandon's 'x' all cutting down to a nice chase scene at the end where Cassia and Ivan would be brutally murdered (Cassia's would be described, Ivan's implied from epilogue) and Brandon delivered to safety :)_


End file.
